VOLUME    XVIII 
POEMS   OF  SCHILLER 


il  W''  i    *H 


\ 


"  To  eveiy  one  she' gave  a  share'' 

I'hotogravure  from  the  painting  by  A.  Liczen-Mayer 


Poetical  Wot'ks 


OF 


Friedrich    Schiller 


.j^^^iKs^ 


Edited  by  Nathan  Haskell  Dole 


Boston    ^     Francis    A.     Niccolls 
&    Compan\'    «^     Publishers 


lEtfttton  ©c  (3xmti  Huxc 

This  Edition  is  Limited  to  Two  Hundred  and  Fifty 
Copies,  of  which  this  is  copy 

No,..a.4 _... 


Copyright,  tgoz 
By  Francis  A.  Niccolls  &  Co 


Cnlonfal  press 

Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  C.  H.  Simonds  &  Co. 

Boston.  Mass.    U  S.  A. 


SRLF 
URL 

pt 

Translator's    Preface. 

I  CLAIM  no  more  for  the  following  translations  than 
that  they  are  a  tolerably  faithful  rendering  of  the 
original  poems  of  Schiller.  I  have  made  no  attempt 
to  seize  upon  Schiller's  supposed  meaning  and  clothe  it 
in  language  of  my  own. 

My  object  has  been  to  reproduce  not  only  Schiller's 
thoughts,  but  Schiller's  method  of  describing  those 
thoughts,  as  accurately  as  was  consistent  with  a  change 
of  language  and  the  exigencies  of  verse.  Where 
Schiller  used  the  Elegiac  metre,  that  metre  has  been 
adhered  to  in  the  translation. 

It  is  true,  indeed,  that  the  technical  accuracy  and 
niceties  of  the  Classic  verse  can  never  be  attained 
in  a  modern  tongue,  but  the  English  language  rdapts 
itself  at  least  as  well  to  the  Elegiac  metre  as  does 
the  German. 

It  may  be  that  there  is  no  very  large  number  of 
English  persons  who  desire  to  read  in  their  own  lan- 
guage the  foreign  poetry  of  an  age  gone  by ;  but  I 
entertain  the  hope  and  belief  that  there  are  many 
Germans  who,  in  the  course  of  their  systematic  study 
of  English,  may  find  it  useful  and  agreeable  to  have  at 
hand  a  faithful  rendering  into  that  language  of  the 
works  of  their  own  respected  poet. 

E.  P.  Arnold  -  Forster. 

Cathedine,  Burley  -  in  -  Whakfedale, 
July,  1901. 


Contents 


Hector  and  Andromache 

Amalia     ... 

A  Funeral  Fantasie  . 

Fantasie  —  To  Laura 

Rapture  —  To  Laura 

The  Mystery  of  Reuiinis 
cence     . 

The  Infanticide 

Fortune  and  Wisdom 

Group  from  Tartarus 

Elysium   . 

The  Flowers     . 

The  Triumph  of  Love 

Hymn  to  Joy    . 

Resiguation 

The  Meeting     . 

The  Secret 

The  Assignation 

Longing    . 

Evening    . 

The  Ideals 

Mountain  Song 

The  Alpine  Hunter  . 

The    Four    Ages    of    the 
World  ... 

The  Maiden's  Lament 

is'adowessian      Death-La 
ment 

The  Cranes  of  Ibycus 

Hero  and  Leander    . 

Tlie  Hostage     . 

The   Knight    of    Toggen- 
burg      .         .         .         . 

The  Fight  with  the  Dragon 

Naturalists  and  Transcen- 
dental Philosophers 

The  Count  of  Hapsburg   . 


PAGE 
1 

2 
•-> 
o 

6 

8 

9 
11 
15 
16 
16 
17 
19 
25 
29 
32 
33 
34 
30 
37 
38 
41 


44 
47 

48 
49 
55 
64 

()9 

72 

80 
81 


PAGE 

The  Ideal  and  the  Actual 

Life  ....  85 
Parables  and  Riddles  .  89 
The  Lay  of  the  Bell  .       91 

Honour  to  Woman  .  .  104 
The  German  Art  .  .  106 
The  Antiques  at  Paris  .  107 
Thekla  .  .  .  .107 
The  Maid  of  Orleans  .  108 
The  Proverbs  of  Con- 
fucius ....  109 
Breadth  and  Depth  .  .110 
Votive  Tablets  .         .111 

Goodness  and  Greatness  .  114 
The  Impulses  .  .  .114 
German  Genius  .  .114 
Theophania  .  .  .115 
Trifles  .  .  .  .115 
The  Moral  Poet  .  .  115 
The  Philosophers  .  .116 
The  Homerides  .  .117 
The  Sublime  Subject  .  117 
The  Artifice  .  .  .117 
Immortality  .  .  .117 
Jeremiads  .  .  .118 
The  Rivers  .  .  .119 
Pegasus  in  Harness  .  .120 
To  Goethe  .  .  .  123 
Verses  Written  in  the 
Folio  Album  of  a 
Learned  Friend  .  .  125 
The   Journalists   and 

Minos    .         .         .         .126 

Laura  at  the  Spinet  .     129 

To  Laura  .         .         .130 

The     Greatness     of     the 

World  .         .         .         .134 


vu 


VUl 


CONTENTS 


Eletry  on  the  Death  of  a 
Youth   . 

Tlie  Battle 

Friendship 

Rousseau 

The  Fugitive     . 

The  Flowers     . 

To  Spriug 

To  Minna 

The  Diiiuity  of  Manhood 

To  a  Moralist   . 

The    Grim    Count    Fber 
hard  of  Wiirttemberi;- 

The  Invincible  Armada 

The  Gods  of  Greece  . 

A  Celebrated  Woman 

Lines  Written  in  a  Young 
Lady's  Album 

The  Artists 

The  Pilgrim      . 

The  Youth  at  the  Brook 

The  Favour   of   the   Mo- 
ment    . 

Pnnch  Song 

To  My  Friends 

Punch  Song 

A  Trooper's  Song     . 

The  Feast  of  Victory 

The  Lament  of  Ceres 

The  Eleusinian  Festival 

The  Ring  of  Polycrates 

Cassandra 

The  Diver 

The  Walk  to  the  Foundry 

The  Glove 

The  Veiled  Image  at  Sais 

The     Partition     of    t  li  e 
World  . 

The  Strange  Maiden 

Parables  and  Riddles 

The  Walk 

The  Power  of  Song  . 

Hope 

The  Sower 

Tiie  Merchant  . 

Ulysses     . 

Carthage  ... 

The  Knights  of  St.  Johi 

German  Honour 

Columbus 


PAGE 

1.35 
138 
140 
141 
143 
144 
145 
146 
147 
150 

151 
154 
150 
100 

164 

165 
179 
180 

182 
183 
184 
185 
187 
189 
103 
197 
204 
207 
211 
217 
224 
22() 

229 
230 
231 
235 
244 
245 
246 
246 
246 
247 
247 
248 
248 


Pompeii     and      Hercula- 

neum 
The  Iliad  . 
Zeus  to  Heracles 
The  Antique  to  the  North 

eru  Wanderer 
The  Minstrels  of  Old  Time 
Nenia 

The  Child  at  Play     . 
The  Sexes 

The  Influence  of  Woman 
The  Dance 
Fortune    . 
Genius 

The  Philosophical  Egotist 
The  Words  of  Faith 
The  Words  of  Error 
Light  and  Warmth  . 
The  Guides  of  Life  . 
Archimedes     and     th 

Scholar 
Human  Knowledge  . 
Honours  . 

The  Two  Paths  of  Virtue 
Zenith  and  Nadir 
Ideal  Freedom  . 
The  Child  in  the  Cradle 
The  Unchangeable   . 
Votive  Tablets 
The  Best  Form  of  Govern 

meut 
To  Legislators  . 
The  Worthy      . 
A  P'alse  Impulse  to  Study 
Rejuvenescence 
The  Circle  of  Nature 
The  Genius  with  the  In 

verted  Torch 
The  Virtue  of  Woman 
Beauty  at  its  Best    . 
The  Forum  of  Woman 


Feminine  Judgment 
The    Feminine  Ideal 
Hope  and  Fulfilment 
The  Conmiou  Lot 
Human  Performance 
The  Father 
Love  and  Desire 
Trifles 
Germany  and  Her  Princes 


PAGE 

249 
251 

252 

252 
252 
253 
254 
254 
256 
256 
258 
261 
263 
264 
265 
266 
267 

267 
268 
268 
269 
269 
269 
269 
269 
270 

276 
276 
276 
276 
276 
277 

277 
277 
277 
277 
278 
278 
278 
279 
279 
279 
279 
279 
280 


CONTENTS 


IX 


To  Proselytisers 

The  (Joimectiug  Link 

The  Mouieut     . 

Geruuiu  Comedy 

A  Bookseller's  Advertise- 

uieut 

Daugerous  Consequences 
The  Greek  Spirit 
Children  of  the  Sabbath 
The  Philosophers 
G..G. 
A  T'rick  . 
Knowledge 
Kant  and  His  Interpreters 
Shakespeare's  Ghost 
The  Rivers 
The  Metaphysician  . 
The  Worldly  Wise   . 


PAGE 

280 
280 
281 

281 

281 
281 
281 
282 
28-i 
284 
284 
284 
284 
287 
288 
288 


PAGE 

The  Puppet-Show  of  Life 

21)0 

To  a  Young  Friend  about 

to  Take  up  Philosophy 

291 

The  Poetry  of  Life  . 

292 

To      Mademoiselle      Sle- 

voight   .... 

293 

Greek  Genius   . 

294 

Lines      Written    in     a 

PYieud's  Album    . 

294 

The  Gift   . 

294 

William  Tell     . 

294 

To  the  Hereditary  Prince 

of  Weimar    . 

295 

The  Beginning  of  the  New 

Century 

29(3 

The  Poet's  Farewell 

298 

Semele     .... 

299 

List   of  Illustrations 


PAGE 
"To     EVERY     ONE     SHE     GAVE     A      SHARE  "      {See    pttQC     SSI) 

Frontispiece 


"Blushing,  he  glides  where'er  she  moves" 
"And  Concordia  we  will  name  her" 
"Forth  I  went  afar  to  roam" 
"One  cry  of  horror  from  all  —  he  dives". 
"'His  case  is  settled,'  they  replied". 


93 
103 
179 
213 
223 


Poems  of  Schiller 


Poems   of  Schiller 


POEMS   OF   THE   FIRST   PERIOD. 
HECTOE    AND    ANDROMACHE. 


[This  and  the  following  poem  are,  with  some  alterations,  intro- 
duced in  the  play  of  "The  Robbers."] 


ANDROMACHE. 

Will  Hector  leave  me  for  the  fatal  plain, 
Where,  fierce  with  vengeance  for  Patroclus  slain, 

Stalks  Peleus'  ruthless  son  ? 
Who,  when  thou  glidest  'mid  the  dark  abodes. 
To  hurl  the  spear  and  to  revere  the  gods. 

Shall  teach  thine  orphan  one  ? 

HECTOR. 

Woman  and  wife  beloved  —  cease  thy  tears ; 
My  soul  is  nerved  —  the  war-clang  in  my  ears ! 

Be  mine  in  life  to  stand 
Troy's  bulwark  !  —  fighting  for  our  hearths,  to  go 
In  death,  exulting  to  the  streams  below, 

Slain  for  mv  fatherland  ! 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 


ANDROMACHE. 


No  more  I  hear  thy  martial  footsteps  fall  — 
Thine  arms  shall  hang,  dull  trophies,  on  the  wall  — 

Fallen  the  stem  of  Troy  ! 
Thou  goest  where  slow  Cocytus  wanders  —  where 
Love  sinks  in  Lethe,  and  the  sunless  air 

Is  dark  to  light  and  joy  ! 

HECTOR. 

Longing  and  thouglit  —  yes,  all  I  feel  and  think 
May  in  the  silent  sloth  of  Lethe  sink, 

But  my  love  not ! 
Hark,  the  wild  swarm  is  at  the  walls  !  —  I  hear  ! 
Gird  on  my  sword.  —  Beloved  one,  dry  the  tear  — 

Lethe  for  love  is  not  ! 


AMALIA. 

Angel  -  fair,  Walhalla's  charms  displaying, 
Fairer  than  all  mortal  youths  was  he  ; 

Mild  his  look,  as  May-day  sunbeams  straying 
Gently  o'er  the  blue  and  glassy  sea. 

And  his  kisses  !  —  what  ecstatic  feeling  ! 

Like  two  flames  that  lovingly  entwine, 
Like  the  harp's  soft  tones  together  stealing 

Into  one  sweet  harmony  divine,  — 

* 

Soul  and  soul  embraced,  commingled,  blended. 
Lips  and  cheeks  with  trembling  passion  burned, 

Heaven  and  earth,  in  pristine  chaos  ended, 
Eound  the  blissful  lovers  madly  turn'd. 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 


He  is  gone  —  and,  ah  !  with  bitter  anguish 
Vainly  now  I  breathe  my  mournful  sighs  ; 

He  is  gone  —  in  hopeless  grief  I  languish, 
Earthly  joys  I  ne'er  again  can  prize ! 


A   FUNEEAL   FANTASIE. 

Pale,  at  its  ghastly  noon, 
Pauses  above  the  death-still  wood  —  the  moon  ; 
The  night-sprite,  sighing,  through  the  dim  air  stirs ; 

The  clouds  descend  in  rain  ; 

Mourning,  the  wan  stars  wane, 
Flickering  like  dying  lamps  in  sepulchres  ! 
Haggard  as  spectres  —  vision-like  and  dumb. 

Dark  with  the  pomp  of  death,  and  moving  slow, 
Towards  that  sad  lair  the  pale  procession  come 

Where  the  grave  closes  on  the  night  below. 


With  dim,  deep-sunken  eye, 
Crutched  on  his  staff,  who  trembles  tottering  by  ? 
As  wrung  from  out  the  shattered  heart,  one  groan 

Breaks  the  deep  hush  alone ! 
Crushed  by  the  iron  fate,  he  seems  to  gather 

All  life's  last  strength  to  stagger  to  the  bier. 
And  hearken  —  Do  these  cold  lips  murmur  "  Father  ? " 

The  sharp  rain,  drizzling  through  that  place  of  fear, 
Pierces  the  bones  gnawed  fleshless  by  despair, 
And  the  heart's  horror  stirs  the  silver  hair. 


Fresh  bleed  the  fiery  wounds 

Through  all  that  agonising  heart  undone  — 
Still  on  the  voiceless  lips  "  my  Father  "  sounds. 

And  still  the  childless  Father  murmurs  "  Son ! 


j> 


4  '  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

Ice-cold  —  ice-cold,  in  that  white  shroud  he  lies  — 
Thy  sweet  and  golden  dreams  all  vanished  there  — 

The  sweet  and  golden  name  of  "  Father  "  dies 
Into  thy  curse,  —  ice-cold  —  ice-cold  —  he  lies  ! 
Dead,  what  thy  life's  dehght  and  Eden  were ! 

Mild,  as  when,  fresh  from  the  arms  of  Aurora, 

While  the  air  like  Elysium  is  smiling  above, 
Steeped  in  rose-breathing  odours,  the  darling  of  Flora 

Wantons  over  the  blooms  on  his  winglets  of  love. 
So  gay,  o'er  the  meads,  went  his  footsteps  in  bliss. 

The  silver  wave  mirrored  the  smile  of  his  face ; 
Dehght,  like  a  flame,  kindled  up  at  his  kiss, 

And  the  heart  of  the  maid  was  the  prey  of  his  chase. 

Boldly  he  sprang  to  the  strife  of  the  world, 

As  a  deer  to  the  mountain-top  carelessly  springs  ; 

As  an  eagle  whose  plumes  to  the  sun  are  unfurled. 
Swept  his  hope  round  the  heaven  on  its  limitless 
wings. 

Proud  as  a  war-horse  that  chafes  at  the  rein, 
That,  kingly,  exults  in  the  storm  of  the  brave ; 

That  throws  to  the  wind  the  wild  stream  of  its  mane, 
Strode  he  forth  by  the  prince  and  the  slave  ! 

Life  like  a  spring  day,  serene  and  divine, 

In  the  star  of  the  morning  went  by  as  a  trance ; 

His  murmurs  he  drowned  in  the  gold  of  the  wine. 
And  his  sorrows  were  borne   on  the  wave  of  the 
dance. 

Worlds  lay  concealed  in  the  hopes  of  his  youth ;  — 
When  once  he  shall  ripen  to  manhood  and  fame ! 

Fond  father  exult !  —  In  the  germs  of  his  youth 

What  harvests  are  destined  for  manhood  and  fame ! 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  5 

Not   to   be  was  that    manhood !  —  The  death-bell    is 
knelling, 
The  hinge  of  the  death-vault  creaks  harsh  on  the 
ears  — 
How  dismal,  0  Death,  is  the  place  of  thy  dwelling ! 
Not  to  be   was  that   manhood !  —  Flow  on,  bitter 
tears  ! 
Go,  beloved,  thy  path  to  the  sun, 

Eise,  world  upon  world,  with  the  perfect  to  rest ; 
Go  —  quaff  the  delight  which  thy  spirit  has  won. 
And    escape    from  our   grief    in    the    Halls    of   the 
Blest. 

Again  (in  that  thought  what  a  heahng  is  found  !) 

To  meet  in  the  Eden  to  which  thou  art  fled  !  — 
Hark,    the    coffin    sinks    down    with    a    dull,    sullen 
sound, 
And  the  ropes  rattle  over  the  sleep  of  the  dead. 
And    we    cling    to    each    other !  —  0    Grave,    he    is 
thine  ! 
The  eye  tells  the  woe  that  is  mute  to  the  ears  — 
And  we  dare  to  resent  what  we  grudge  to  resign, 
Till    the   heart's  sinful    murmur  is    choked    in    its 

tears. 
Pale  at  its  ghastly  noon, 

Pauses  above  the  death-still  wood  —  the  moon  ! 
The  night-sprite,  sighing,  through  the  dim  air  stirs: 

The  clouds  descend  in  rain  ; 

Mourning,  the  wan  stars  wane, 
Flickering  like  dying  lamps  in  sepulchres. 
The  dull  clods  swell  into  the  sullen  mound ; 

Earth,  one  look  yet  upon  the  prey  we  gave ! 
The  grave  locks  up  the  treasure  it  has  found  ; 
Higher  and  higher  swells  the  sullen  mound  — 

Never  gives  back  the  grave  ! 


POEMS  OF   SCHILLER 


FANTASIE  — TO   LAURA. 

Name,  my  Laura,  name  the  whirl-compelling 
Bodies  to  unite  in  one  blest  whole  — 

Name,  my  Laura,  name  the  wondrous  magic 
By  which  soul  rejoins  its  kindred  soul ! 

See  !  it  teaches  yonder  roving  planets 
Eound  the  sun  to  fly  in  endless  race  ; 

And  as  children  play  around  their  mother, 
Checkered  circles  round  the  orb  to  trace. 

Every  rolling  star,  by  thirst  tormented. 

Drinks  with  joy  its  bright  and  golden  rain  — 

Drinks  refreshment  from  its  fiery  chalice. 
As  the  limbs  are  nourished  by  the  brain. 

'Tis  through  Love  that  atom  pairs  with  atom, 

In  a  harmony  eternal,  sure  ; 
And  'tis  Love  that  Hnks  the  spheres  together  — 

Through  her  only,  systems  can  endure. 

Were  she  but  effaced  from  Nature's  clockwork. 
Into  dust  would  fly  the  mighty  world  ; 

O'er  thy  systems  thou  wouldst  weep,  great  Newton, 
When  with  giant  force  to  chaos  hurled ! 

Blot  the  goddess  from  tlie  spirit  order, 
It  would  sink  in  death  and  ne'er  arise. 

Were  love  absent,  spring  would  glad  us  never  ; 
Were  love  absent,  none  their  God  would  prize  ! 

What  is  that,  which,  when  my  Laura  kisses, 
Dyes  my  cheek  with  flames  of   purple  hue. 

Bids  my  bosom  bound  with  swifter  motion. 
Like  a  fever  wild  my  veins  runs  through  ? 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

Every  nerve  from  out  its  barriers  rises, 
O'er  its  banks,  the  blood  begins  to  flow ; 

Body  seeks  to  join  itself  to  body, 
Spirits  kindle  in  one  blissful  glow. 

Powerful  as  in  the  dead  creations 

That  eternal  impulses  obey, 
O'er  the  web  Arachne-like  of  Nature, 

Living  Nature,  —  Love  exerts  her  sway. 

Laura,  see  how  joyousness  embraces 
E'en  the  overflow  of  sorrows  wild ! 

How  e'en  rigid  desperation  kindles 

On  the  loving  breast  of  Hope  so  mild. 

Sisterly  and  blissful  rapture  softens 
Gloomy  Melancholy's  fearful  night, 

And,  dehver'd  of  its  golden  children, 

Lo,  the  eye  pours  forth  its  radiance  bright ! 

Does  not  awful  Sympathy  rule  over 

E'en  the  realms  that  Evil  calls  its  own  ? 

For  it's  Hell  our  crimes  are  ever  wooing. 

While  they  bear  a  grudge  'gainst  Heaven  alone 

Shame,  Repentance,  pair  Eumenides-like, 
Weave  round  sin  their  fearful  serpent-coils : 

While  around  the  eagle-wings  of  Greatness 
Treach'rous  danger  winds  its  dreaded  toils. 


^o 


Ruin  oft  with  Pride  is  wont  to  trifle, 
Envy  upon  Fortune  loves  to  cliug ; 

On  her  brother.  Death,  with  arms  extended, 
Lust,  his  sister,  oft  is  wont  to  spring. 

On  the  wings  of  Love  the  future  hastens 
In  the  arms  of  ages  past  to  lie ; 


8  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 


And  Saturnus,  as  he  onward  speeds  him, 


Long  hath  sought  his  bride  —  Eternity 


Soon  Saturnus  will  his  bride  discover,  — 
So  the  mighty  oracle  hatli  said  ; 

Blazing  worlds  will  turn  to  marriage  torches 
When  Eternity  with  Time  shall  wed  ! 

Then  a  fairer,  far  more  beauteous  morning, 
Laura,  on  our  love  shall  also  shine, 

Long  as  their  blest  bridal-night  enduring :  — 
So  rejoice  thee,  Laura  —  Laura  mine  ! 


KAPTUEE— TO  LAUKA. 

From  earth  I  seem  to  wing  my  flight, 
And  sun  myself  in  Heaven's  pure  light, 

When  thy  sweet  gaze  meets  mine. 
I  dream  I  quaff  ethereal  dew, 
When  my  own  form  I  mirrored  view 

In  those  blue  eyes  divine  ! 

Blest  notes  from  Paradise  afar, 

Or  strains  from  some  benignant  star 

Enchant  my  ravished  ear  : 
My  Muse  feels  then  the  shepherd's  hour 
When  silvery  tones  of  magic  power 

Escape  those  lips  so  dear  ! 

Young  Loves  around  thee  fan  their  wings  — 
Behind,  the  maddened  fir-tree  springs, 

As  when  by  Orpheus  fired : 
The  poles  whirl  round  with  swifter  motion, 
When  in  the  dance,  like  waves  o'er  Ocean, 

Thy  footsteps  float  untired! 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

Thy  look,  if  it  but  beam  with  love, 
Could  make  the  lifeless  marble  move, 

Aud  hearts  in  rocks  enshrine : 
My  visions  to  reality 
Will  turn,  if,  Laura,  in  thine  eye 

I  read  —  that  thou  art  mine ! 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  REMINISCENCE. 

TO    LAUKA. 

Who  and  what  gave  to  me  the  wish  to  woo  thee- 
Still,  hp  to  lip,  to  cHng  for  aye  unto  thee  ? 
Who  made  thy  glances  to  my  soul  the  link  — 
Who  bade  me  burn  thy  very  breath  to  drink  — 
My  hfe  in  thine  to  sink  ? 

As  from  the  conqueror's  unresisted  glaive, 
Flies,  without  strife  subdued,  the  ready  slave  — 
So,  when  to  life's  unguarded  fort,  I  see 
Thy  gaze  draw  near  and  near  triumphantly  — 
Yields  not  my  soul  to  thee  ? 

Why  from  its  lord  doth  thus  my  soul  depart  ?  — 
Is  it  because  its  native  home  thou  art  ? 
Or  were  they  brothers  in  the  days  of  yore. 
Twin-bound  both  souls,  and  in  the  link  they  bore 
Sigh  to  be  bound  once  more  ? 

Were  once  our  beings  blent  and  intertwining. 
And  therefore  still  my  heart  for  thine  is  pining  ? 
Knew  we  the  light  of  some  extinguished  sun  — 
The  joys  remote  of  some  bright  realm  undone, 
Where  once  our  souls  were  One  ? 


lo  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

Yes,  it  is  so !  —  And  thou  wert  bound  to  me 
In  the  loug-vauish'd  Eld  eternally ! 
In  the  dark  troubled  tablets  which  enroll 
The  Past  —  my  Muse  beheld  this  blessed  scroU  — 
"  One  with  thy  love  my  soul ! " 

Oh,  yes,  I  learned  in  awe,  when  gazing  there, 
How  once  one  bright  inseparate  hfe  we  were, 
How  once,  one  glorious  essence  as  a  God, 
Unmeasured  space  our  chainless  footsteps  trod  — 
All  Nature  our  abode  ! 

Eound  us,  in  waters  of  delight,  for  ever 
Voluptuous  flowed  the  heavenly  Nectar  river ; 
We  were  the  master  of  the  seal  of  things, 
And   where   the    sunshine   bathed   Truth's   mountain- 
springs 

Quivered  our  glancing  wings. 

Weep  for  the  godlike  Hfe  we  lost  afar  — 
"Weep  !  —  thou  and  I  its  scattered  fragments  are ; 
And  still  the  unconquered  yearning  we  retain  — 
Sigh  to  restore  the  rapture  and  the  reign. 
And  grow  divine  again. 

And  therefore  came  to  me  the  wish  to  woo  thee  — 
Still,  lip  to  hp,  to  cling  for  aye  unto  thee ; 
This  made  thy  glances  to  my  soul  the  link  — 
This  made  me  burn  thy  very  breath  to  drink  — 
My  life  in  thine  to  sink  ; 

And  therefore,  as  before  the  conqueror's  glaive, 
Flies,  without  strife  subdued,  the  ready  slave. 
So,  when  to  life's  unguarded  fort,  I  see 
Thy  gaze  draw  near  and  near  triumphantly  — 
Yieldeth  my  soul  to  thee  ! 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  •  ll 

Therefore  my  soul  doth  from  its  lord  depart, 
BecaiLse,  beloved,  its  native  home  thou  art ; 
Because  the  twins  recall  the  links  they  bore. 
And  soul  with  soul,  in  the  sweet  kiss  of  yore, 
Meets  and  unites  once  more ! 

Thou,  too  —  Ah,  there  thy  gaze  upon  me  dwells, 

And  thy  young  blush  the  tender  answer  tells ; 

Yes !  with  the  dear  relation  still  we  thrill, 

Both  lives  —  though  exiles  from  the  homeward  hill  — 

One  hf e  —  all  glowing  still ! 


THE  INFANTICIDE. 

Hark  where  the  bells  toll,  chiming,  dull  and  steady ; 

The  clock's  slow  hand  hath  reached  the  appointed 
time. 
Well,  be  it  so  —  prepare,  my  soul  is  ready, 

Companions  of  the  grave  —  the  rest  for  crime  ! 
Now  take,  0  world  !  my  last  farewell  —  receiving 

My  parting  kisses  —  in  these  tears  they  dwell ! 
Sweet  are  thy  poisons  while  we  taste  believing, 

Now  we  are  quits  —  heart-poisoner,  fare-thee-well ! 

Farewell,  ye  suns  that  once  to  joy  invited, 

Changed  for  the  mould  beneath  the  funeral  sliade ; 
Farewell,  farewell,  thou  rosy  time  delighted, 

Luring  to  soft  desire  the  careless  maid ; 
Pale  gossamers  of  gold,  farewell,  sweet  dreaming 

Fancies  —  the  children  that  an  Eden  bore  ! 
Blossoms  that  died  while  dawn  itself  was  gleaming. 

Opening  in  happy  sunlight  never  more. 

Swanlike  the  robe  which  innocence  bestowing, 
Decked  with  the  virgin  favours,  rosy  fair. 


12  •  POEMS  OF   SCHILLER 

In  the  gay  time  when  many  a  young  rose  glowing, 
Blushed  thruugli  the  loose  train  of  the  amber  hair. 

Woe,  woe  !  as  white  the  robe  that  decks  me  now  — 
The  shroud-like  robe  hell's  destined  victim  wears ; 

Still  shall  the  fillet  bind  this  burning  brow  — 
Tliat  sable  braid  the  Doomsman's  hand  prepares ! 

Weep  ye,  ^v^lo  never  fell  —  for  whom,  unerring, 

The  soul's  white  lilies  keep  their  virgin  hue, 
Ye  who  when  thoughts  so  danger-sweet  are  stirring, 

Take  the  stern  strength  that  Nature  gives  the  few  ! 
Woe,  for  too  human  was  this  fond  heart's  feeling  — 

Feeling  !  my  sin's  avenger  ^  doomed  to  be  ; 
Woe  —  for  the  false  man's  arm  around  me  steahng. 

Stole  the  lulled  virtue,  charmed  to  sleep,  from  me. 

Ah,  he  perhaps  shall,  round  another  sighing 

(Forgot  the  serpents  stinging  at  my  breast). 
Gaily,  when  I  in  the  dumb  grave  am  lying, 

Pour  the  warm  wish  or  speed  the  wanton  jest, 
Or  play,  perchance,  with  his  new  maiden's  tresses, 

Answer  the  kiss  her  lip  enamoured  brings, 
When  the  dread  block  the  head  he  cradled  presses, 

And  high  the  blood  his  kiss  once  fevered  springs. 

Thee,  Francis,  Francis,^  league  on  league,  shall  follow 

The  death-dirge  of  the  Lucy  once  so  dear ; 
From  yonder  steeple  dismal,  dull,  and  hollow, 

Shall  knell  the  warning  horror  on  thy  ear. 
On  thy  fresh  lemau's  lips  when  love  is  dawning, 

And  the  lisped  music  glides  from  that  sweet  well  — 
Lo,  in  that  breast  a  red  wound  shall  be  yawning. 

And,  in  the  midst  of  rapture,  warn  of  hell ! 

1  "Und  Empfindung  soil  mein  Richtschwert  seyn." 
A  line  of  great  vigour  in   the  original,  but  which,  if  literally 
translated,  would  seem  extravagant  in  English. 
2  Joseph,  in  the  original. 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  13 

Betrayer,  what !  thy  soul  relentless  closing 

To  grief  —  the  woman-shame  no  art  can  heal  — 
To  that  small  life  beneath  my  heart  reposing ! 

Man,  man,  the  wild  beast  for  its  young  can  feel ! 
Proud  flew  the  sails  —  receding  from  the  land, 

I  watched  them  waning  from  the  wistful  eye, 
Eound  the  gay  maids  on  Seine's  voluptuous  strand, 

Breathes  the  false  incense  of  his  fatal  sigh. 


And  there  the  babe  !  there,  on  the  mother's  bosom, 

Lulled  in  its  sweet  and  golden  rest  it  lay, 
Fresh  in  life's  morning  as  a  rosy  blossom, 

It  smiled,  poor  harmless  one,  my  tears  away. 
Deathlike  yet  lovely,  every  feature  speaking 

In  such  dear  calm  and  beauty  to  my  sadness. 
And  cradled  still  the  mother's  heart,  in  breaking, 

The  softening  love  and  the  despairing  madness. 

"  Woman,  where  is  my  father  ?  "  —  freezing  through 
me. 

Lisped  the  mute  innocence  with  thunder-sound  ; 
"Woman,  where  is  thy  husband?"  —  called  unto  me, 

In  every  look,  word,  whisper,  busying  round ! 
Alas,  for  thee  there  is  no  father's  kiss  ;  — 

He  fondleth  other  children  on  his  knee. 
How  thou  wilt  curse  our  momentary  bliss, 

When  bastard  on  thy  name  shall  branded  be ! 

Thy  mother  —  oh,  a  hell  her  heart  concealeth, 

Lone-sitting,  lone  in  social  nature's  all ! 
Thirsting  for  that  glad  fount  thy  love  revealeth. 

While  still  thy  look  the  glad  fount  turns  to  gall. 
In  every  infant  cry  my  soul  is  barkening. 

The  haunting  happiness  for  ever  o'er, 
And  all  the  bitterness  of  death  is  darkening 

The  heavenly  looks  that  smiled  mine  eyes  before. 


14  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

Hell,  if  my  sight  those  looks  a  moment  misses  — 

Hell,  when  my  sight  upon  those  looks  is  turned  — 
The  avenging  furies  madden  in  thy  kisses, 

That  slept  in  his  what  time  my  lips  they  burned. 
Out    from    their    graves    his    oaths    spoke    back    in 
thunder ! 

The  perjury  stalked  like  murder  in  the  sun  — 
For  ever  —  God!  —  sense,  reason,  soul,  sunk  under  — 

The  deed  was  done  ! 

Francis,    0  Francis !    league    on    league    shall    chase 
thee, 

The  shadows  hurrying  grimly  on  thy  flight  — 
Still  with  their  icy  arms  they  shall  embrace  thee, 

And  mutter  thunder  in  thy  dream's  delight ! 

Down  from  the  soft  stars,  in  their  tranquil  glory. 
Shall  look  thy  dead  child  with  a  ghastly  stare ; 

That  shape  shall  haunt  thee  in  its  cerements  gory, 
And    scourge   thee  back   from    heaven  —  its   home 
is  there ! 


Lifeless  —  how  lifeless!  —  see,  oh,  see,  before  me 
It  lies  cold  —  stiff  —  0  God  !  —  and  with  that  blood 

I  feel,  as  swoops  the  dizzy  darkness  o'er  me. 

Mine  own  life  mingled  —  ebbing  in  the  flood  — 

Hark,  at  the  door  they  knock  —  more  loud  within 
me  — 

More  awful  still  —  its  sound  the  dread  heart  gave ! 
Gladly  I  welcome  the  cold  arms  that  win  me  — 

Fire,  quench  thy  tortures  in  the  icy  grave ! 

Francis  —  a  God  that  pardons  dwells  in  heaven  — 
Francis,  the  sinner  —  yes  —  she  pardons  thee  — 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  15 

So  let  my  wrongs  unto  the  earth  be  given : 

Flame  seize  the  wood  !  —  it  burns  —  it  kindles  — 
see! 
There  —  there  his  letters  cast  —  behold  are  ashes  — 
His    vows  —  the    conquering   fire    consumes    them 
here: 
His  kisses  —  see  —  see  —  all  are  only  ashes  — 
All,  all  —  the  all  that  once  on  earth  were  dear  ! 

Trust  not  the  roses  which  your  youth  enjoyeth, 

Sisters,  to  man's  faith,  changeful  as  the  moon ! 
Beauty  to  me  brought  guilt  —  its  bloom  destroyeth  : 

Lo,  in  the  judgment  court  I  curse  the  boon  : 
Tears    in   the    headsman's   gaze  —  what    tears  ?  —  'tis 
spoken  ! 

Quick,  bind  mine  eyes  —  all  soon  shall  be  forgot  — 
Doomsman  —  the  lily  hast  thou  never  broken  ? 

Pale  Doomsman  —  tremble  not ! 


FORTUNE   AND   WISDOM. 

Enkaged  against  a  quondam  friend, 
To  Wisdom  once  proud  Fortune  said : 
"  I'll  give  thee  treasures  without  end, 
If  thou  wilt  be  my  friend  instead. 

"  My  choicest  gifts  to  him  I  gave. 

And  ever  blessed  him  with  my  smile ; 
And  yet  he  ceases  not  to  crave, 

And  calls  me  niggard  all  the  while. 

"  Come,  sister,  let  us  friendship  vow ! 
So  take  the  money,  nothing  loth ; 
Why  always  labour  at  the  plough  ? 
Here  is  enough  I'm  sure  for  both  ! " 


l6  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

Sage  Wisdom  laughed  — the  prudent  elf!  — 
Aud  wiped  her  brow,  with  moisture  hot : 
"There  ruus  thy  friend  to  haug  himself, — 
Be  reconciled  —  I  need  thee  not ! " 


GEOUr    FROM    TARTARUS. 

Hark  !  like  the  sea  in  wrath  the  heavens  assailing. 
Or  like  a  brook  through  rocky  basin  wailing. 
Comes  from  below,  in  groaning  agony, 
A  heavy,  vacant  torment-breathing  sigh ! 

Their  faces  marks  of  bitter  torture  wear, 
While  from  their  lips  burst  curses  of  despair ; 
Their  eyes  are  hollow,  and  full  of  woe, 

And  their  looks  with  heartfelt  anguish 
Seek  Cocytus'  stream  that  runs  wailing  below, 
For  the  bridge  o'er  its  waters  they  languish. 

And  they  say  to  each  other  in  accents  of  fear, 
"  Oh,  when  will  the  time  of  fulfilment  appear  ?  " 
High  over  them  boundless  eternity  quivers, 
And  the  scythe  of  Saturnus  ail-ruthlessly  shivers  ! 


ELYSIUM. 

Past  the  despairing  wail  — 

And  the  bright  banquets  of  the  Elysian  vale 

Melt  every  care  away  ! 
Delight,  that  breathes  and  moves  for  ever. 
Glides  through  sweet  fields  like  some  sweet  river ! 

Elysian  life  survey  ! 
There,  fresh  with  youth,  o'er  jocunti  meads, 
His  merry  west-winds  blithely  leads 

The  ever-blooming  May  ! 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  17 

Through    gold-woven    dreams  goes  the  dance  of  the 

hours, 
In  space  without  bounds  swell  the  soul  and  its  powers, 

And  truth,  with  no  veil,  gives  her  face  to  the  day. 
And  joy  to-day  and  joy  to-morrow, 

But  wafts  the  airy  soul  aloft ; 
The  very  name  is  lost  to  sorrow. 

And  pain  is  rapture  tuned  more  exquisitely  soft. 

Here  the  pilgrim  reposes  the  world-weary  limb, 
And  forgets  in  the  shadow,  cool-breathing  and  dim. 

The  load  he  shall  bear  never  more ; 
Here  the  mower,  his  sickle  at  rest,  by  the  streams, 
Lulled  with  harp-strings,  reviews,  in  the  calm  of  his 
dreams. 

The  fields,  when  the  harvest  is  o'er. 
Here,  he,  whose  ears  drank  in  the  battle  roar. 
Whose  banners  streamed  upon  the  startled  wind 

A  thunder-storm,  —  before  whose  thunder  tread 
The  mountains  trembled,  —  in  soft  sleep  reclined, 

By  the  sweet  brook  that  o'er  its  pebbly  bed 
In  silver  plays,  and  murmurs  to  the  shore, 
Hears  the  stern  clangour  of  wild  spears  no  more ! 
Here  the  true  spouse  the  lost-beloved  regains. 
And  on  the  enamelled  couch  of  summer-plains 

Mingles  sweet  kisses  with  the  zephyr's  breath. 
Here,  crowned  at  last,  love  never  knows  decay, 
Living  through  ages  its  one  bridal  day. 

Safe  from  the  stroke  of  death  ! 


THE   FLOWERS. 

Ye  offspring  of  the  mornmg  sun, 

Ye  flowers  that  deck  the  smihng  plain, 

Your  lives,  in  joy  and  bliss  begun, 
In  Nature's  love  unchanged  remain. 


l8  ,  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

With  hues  of  bright  and  godhke  splendour 
Sweet  Flora  graced  your  forms  so  tender, 

And  clothed  ye  in  a  garb  of  hght ; 
Spring's  lovely  children  weep  for  ever, 
For  hving  souls  she  gave  ye  never, 

And  ye  must  dwell  in  endless  night  ? 

The  nightingale  and  lark  still  sing 

In  your  tranced  ears  the  bliss  of  love  : 
The  toying  sylphs,  on  airy  wing, 

Around  your  fragrant  bosoms  rove. 
Of  yore,  Dione's  daughter  ^  twining 
In  garlands  sweet  your  cup  so  shining, 

A  pillow  formed  where  love  might  rest ! 
Spring's  gentle  children,  mourn  for  ever, 
The  joys  of  love  she  gave  ye  never. 

Ne'er  let  ye  know  that  feeling  blest ! 

But  when  ye're  gathered  by  my  hand, 

A  token  of  my  love  to  be, 
Now  that  her  mother's  harsh  command 

From  Nanny's  ^  sight  has  banished  me  — 
E'en  from  that  passing  touch  ye  borrow 
Those  heralds  mute  of  pleasing  sorrow, 

Life,  language,  hearts  and  souls  divine  ; 
And  to  your  silent  leaves  'tis  given, 
By  Him  who  mightiest  is  in  heaven. 

His  glorious  Godhead  to  enshrine. 

1  Venus. 

2  Originally  Laura,  this  having  been  one  of  the  "  Laura-Poems," 
as  the  Germans  call  them,  of  which  so  many  appeared  in  the  An- 
thology (see  Preface).  English  readers  will  probably  not  think 
that  the  change  is  for  the  better. 


POEMS  OF   SCHILLER  i^ 

THE  TRIUMPH    OF    LOVE. 

A    HYMN. 

By  love  are  blest  the  gods  on  high, 
Frail  man  becomes  a  deity 

When  love  to  him  is  given  ; 
'Tis  love  that  makes  the  heavens  shine  ' 
With  hues  more  radiant,  more  divine. 

And  turns  dull  earth  to  heaven ! 

In  Pyrrha's  rear  (so  poets  sang 

In  ages  past  and  gone), 
The  world  from  rocky  fragments  sprang  — 

Mankind  from  lifeless  stone. 

Their  soul  was  but  a  thing  of  night, 

Like  stone  and  rock  their  heart ; 
The  flaming  torch  of  heaven  so  bright 

Its  glow  could  ne'er  impart. 

Young  loves,  all  gently  hovering  round. 
Their  souls  as  yet  had  never  bound 

In  soft  and  rosy  chains ; 
No  feeling  muse  had  sought  to  raise 
Their  bosoms  with  ennobling  lays. 

Or  sweet,  harmonious  strains. 

Around  each  other  lovingly 

No  garlands  then  entwined  ; 
The  sorrowing  springs  fled  toward  the  sky. 

And  left  the  earth  behind. 

From  out  the  sea  Aurora  rose 
With  none  to  hail  her  then ; 


20  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

The  sun  unbailed,  at  daylight's  close, 
In  ocean  sank  again. 

In  forests  wild,  man  went  astray, 
Misled  by  Luna's  cloudy  ray  — 

He  bore  an  iron  yoke ; 
He  pined  not  for  the  stars  on  high, 
With  yearning  for  a  deity 

No  tears  in  torrents  broke. 


But  see !  from  out  the  deep-blue  ocean 
Fair  Venus  springs  with  gentle  motion  : 
The  graceful  Naiad's  smiling  band 
Conveys  her  to  the  gladdened  strand. 

A  May-like,  youthful,  magic  power 
Entwines,  like  morning's  twilight  hour. 
Around  that  form  of  godlike  birth, 
The  charms  of  air,  sea,  heaven,  and  earth. 

The  day's  sweet  eye  begms  to  bloom 
Across  the  forest's  midnight  gloom  ; 
Narcissuses,  their  balm  distilhng, 
The  path  her  footstep  treads  are  filling. 

A  song  of  love,  sweet  Philomel 
Soon  carolled  through  the  grove ; 

The  streamlet,  as  it  murmuring  fell, 
Discoursed  of  nought  but  love. 

Pygmalion  !     Happy  one  !     Behold  ! 
Life's  glow  pervades  thy  marble  cold ! 
Oh,  Love,  thou  conqueror  all-divine, 
Embrace  each  happy  child  of  thine ! 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  21 

By  love  are  blest  the  gods  on  high,  — 
Frail  man  becomes  a  deity 

When  love  to  him  is  given  ; 
'Tis  love  that  makes  the  heavens  shine 
With  hues  more  radiant,  more  divine, 

And  turns  dull  earth  to  heaven  ! 


The  gods  their  days  for  ever  spend 
In  banquets  bright  that  have  no  end,  — 
In  one  voluptuous  morning-dream, 
And  quaff  the  nectar's  golden  stream. 

Enthroned  in  awful  majesty 
KronTon  wields  the  bolt  on  high : 
In  abject  fear  Olympus  rocks 
When  wrathfully  he  shakes  his  locks. 

To  other  gods  he  leaves  his  throne. 
And  fills,  disguised  as  earth's  frail  son, 

The  grove  with  mournful  numbers  ; 
The  thunders  rest  beneath  his  feet, 
And  lulled  by  Leda's  kisses  sweet, 

The  Giant-Slayer  slumbers. 

Through  the  boundless  realms  of  light 
Phoebus'  golden  reins,  so  bright. 
Guide  his  horses  white  as  snow. 
While  his  darts  lay  nations  low. 
But  when  love  and  harmony 
Fill  his  breast,  how  willingly 
Ceases  Phoebus  then  to  heed 
Eatthng  dart  and  snow-white  steed ! 


See  !     Before  KronTon 's  spouse 
Every  great  immortal  bows  ; 


422  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

Proudly  soar  the  peacock  pair 
As  her  chariot  throne  they  bear, 
While  she  decks  with  crown  of  might 
Her  ambrosial  tresses  bright. 

Beauteous  princess,  ah  !  with  fear 

Quakes  before  thy  splendour,  love, 
Seeking,  as  he  ventures  near, 

With  his  power  thy  breast  to  move  ! 
Soon  from  her  immortal  throne 

Heaven's  great  queen  must  fain  descend, 
And  in  prayer  for  beauty's  zone. 

To  the  heart-euchainer  bend  ! 


By  love  are  blest  the  gods  on  high, 
Erail  man  becomes  a  deity 

When  love  to  him  is  given ; 
'Tis  love  that  makes  the  heavens  shine 
With  hues  more  radiant,  more  divine. 

And  turns  dull  earth  to  heaven  ! 


'Tis  love  illumes  the  realms  of  night, 
For  Orcus  dark  obeys  his  might. 
And  bows  before  his  magic  spell : 
All-kindly  looks  the  king  of  hell 
At  Ceres'  daughter's  smile  so  bright,  — 
Yes  —  love  illumes  the  realms  of  night ! 

In  hell  were  heard,  with  heavenly  sound. 
Holding  in  chains  its  warder  bound. 

Thy  lays,  0  Thracian  one ! 
A  gentler  doom  dread  Minos  passed, 
While  down  his  cheeks  the  tears  coursed  fast 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  23 

And  e'en  around  Megiera's  face 
The  serpents  twined  in  fond  embrace. 
The  lashes'  work  seemed  done. 

Driven  by  Orpheus'  lyre  away, 
The  vulture  left  his  giant-prey  ;  ^ 
With  gentler  motion  rolled  along 

Dark  Lethe  and  Cocytus'  river, 
Enraptured  Thracian,  by  thy  song, — 

And  love  its  burden  was  for  ever ! 


By  love  are  blest  the  gods  on  high, 
Frail  man  becomes  a  deity 

When  love  to  him  is  given  ; 
'Tis  love  that  makes  the  heavens  shine 
With  hues  more  radiant,  more  divine, 

And  turns  dull  earth  to  heaven  ! 


Wherever  Nature's  sway  extends, 
The  fragrant  balm  of  love  descends, 

His  golden  pinions  quiver  ; 
If  'twere  not  Venus'  eye  that  gleams 
Upon  me  in  the  moon's  soft  beams, 

In  sunlit  hill  or  river, — 
If  'twere  not  Venus  smiles  on  me 
From  yonder  bright  and  starry  sea, 

Not  stars,  not  sun,  not  moonbeams  sweet. 
Could  make  my  heart  with  rapture  beat. 
'Tis  love  alone  that  smilingly 
Peers  forth  from  Nature's  blissful  eye. 
As  from  a  mirror  ever ! 

1  Tityus. 


24  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

Love  bids  the  silvery  streamlet  roll 
More  gently  as  it  sighs  along, 

And  breathes  a  hving,  feeling  soul 
In  Philomel's  sweet  plaintive  song ; 

'Tis  love  alone  that  fills  the  air 

With  streams  from  Nature's  lute  so  fair. 

Thou  wisdom  with  the  glance  of  fire, 
Thou  mighty  goddess,  now  retire, 

Love's  power  thou  now  must  feel ! 
To  victor  proud,  to  monarch  high. 
Thou  ne'er  has  knelt  in  slavery,  — 

To  love  thou  now  must  kneel ! 

Who  taught  thee  boldly  how  to  climb 
The  steep,  but  starry  path  sublime, 

And  reach  the  seats  immortal  ? 
Who  rent  the  mystic  veil  in  twain, 
And  showed  thee  the  Elysian  plain 

Beyond  death's  gloomy  portal  ? 
If  love  had  beckoned  not  from  high. 
Had  we  gained  immortality  ? 
If  love  had  not  inflamed  each  thought, 
Had  we  the  master  spirit  sought  ? 
'Tis  love  that  guides  the  soul  along 
To  Nature's  Father's  heavenly  throne ! 

By  love  are  blest  the  gods  on  high. 
Frail  man  becomes  a  deity 

When  love  to  him  is  given ; 
'Tis  love  that  makes  the  heavens  shine 
With  hues  more  radiant,  more  divine. 

And  turns  dull  earth  to  heaven  ! 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  «$ 

POEMS   OF  THE  SECOND   PERIOD. 

HYMN    TO    JOY. 

Joy,  thou  goddess,  fair,  immortal, 

Offspring  of  Elysium, 
Mad  with  rapture,  to  the  portal 

Of  thy  holy  fame  we  come ! 
Fashion's  laws,  indeed,  may  sever, 

But  thy  magic  joins  again  ; 
All  mankind  are  brethren  ever 

'Neath  thy  mild  and  gentle  reign. 

CHORUS. 

Welcome,  all  ye  myriad  creatures  ! 

Brethren,  take  the  kiss  of  love  ! 

Yes,  the  starry  realms  above 
Hide  a  Father's  smiling  features ! 

He,  that  noble  prize  possessing  — 

He  that  boasts  a  friend  that's  true, 
He  whom  woman's  love  is  blessing. 

Let  him  join  the  chorus  too  ! 
Aye,  and  he  who  but  one  spirit 

On  this  earth  can  call  his  own  !  — 
He  who  no  such  bliss  can  merit, 

Let  him  mourn  his  fate  alone ! 

CHORUS. 

All  who  Nature's  tribes  are  swelling 

Homage  pay  to  Sympathy  ; 

For  she  guides  us  up  on  high, 
Where  the  unknown  has  his  dwelling. 


26  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

From  the  breasts  of  kindly  Nature 

All  of  joy  imbibe  the  dew ; 
Good  aud  bad  alike,  each  creature 

Would  her  roseate  path  pursue. 
'Tis  through  her  the  wine-cup  maddens, 

Love  and  friends  to  man  she  gives ! 
Bhss  the  meanest  reptile  gladdens,  — 

Near  God's  throne  the  cherub  lives ! 


CHORUS. 

Bow  before  him,  all  creation  ! 

Mortals,  own  the  god  of  love ! 

Seek  him  high  the  stars  above, — 
Yonder  is  his  habitation  ! 

Joy,  in  Nature's  wide  dominion, 

Mightiest  cause  of  all  is  found  ; 
And  'tis  joy  that  moves  the  pinion, 

When  the  wheel  of  time  goes  round ; 
From  the  bud  she  lures  the  flower,  — 

Suns  from  out  their  orbs  of  light ; 
Distant  spheres  obey  her  power. 

Far  beyond  all  mortal  sight. 

CHORUS. 

As  through  heaven's  expanse  so  glorious 
In  their  orbits  suns  roll  on, 
Brethren,  thus  your  proud  race  run, 

Glad  as  warriors  all-victorious ! 

Joy  from  truth's  own  glass  of  fire 
Sweetly  on  the  searcher  smiles ; 

Lest  on  virtue's  steeps  he  tire, 
Joy  the  tedious  path  beguiles. 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  27 

High  on  faith's  bright  hill  before  us, 

See  her  banner  proudly  wave  ! 
Joy,  too,  swells  the  angels'  chorus,  — 

Bursts  the  bondage  of  the  grave ! 


CHORUS. 

Mortals,  meekly  wait  for  heaven, 

Suffer  on  in  patient  love ! 

In  the  starry  realms  above, 
Bright  rewards  by  God  are  given. 

To  the  gods  we  ne'er  can  render 

Praise  for  every  good  they  grant ; 
Let  us,  with  devotion  tender, 

Minister  to  grief  and  want. 
Quenched  be  hate  and  wrath  for  ever, 

Pardoned  be  our  mortal  foe  — 
May  our  tears  upbraid  him  never, 

No  repentance  bring  him  low ! 

CHORUS. 

Sense  of  wrongs  forget  to  treasure  — 
Brethren,  live  in  perfect  love ! 
In  the  starry  realms  above, 

God  will  mete  as  we  may  measure. 

Joy  wdthin  the  goblet  flushes. 

For  the  golden  nectar,  wine, 
Every  fierce  emotion  hushes,  — 

Fills  the  breast  with  fire  divine. 
Brethren,  thus  in  rapture  meeting. 

Send  ye  round  the  brimming  cup,  — 
Yonder  kindly  spirit  greeting, 

While  the  foam  to  heaven  mounts  up ! 


28  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

CHORUS. 

He  whom  seraphs  worship  ever, 
Whom  the  stars  praise  as  they  roll, 
Yes  —  to  him  now  drain  the  bowl  — 

Mortal  eye  can  see  him  never  ! 

Courage,  ne'er  by  sorrow  broken  ! 

Aid  where  tears  of  virtue  flow ; 
Faith  to  keep  each  promise  spoken  ! 

Trutli  alike  to  friend  and  foe ! 
'Neath  kings'  frowns  a  manly  spirit !  — 

Brethren,  noble  is  the  prize  — 
Honour  due  to  every  merit ! 

Death  to  all  the  brood  of  lies ! 

CHORUS. 

Draw  the  sacred  circle  closer ! 

By  this  bright  wine  plight  your  troth 
To  be  faithful  to  your  oath  ! 

Swear  it  by  the  Star-Disposer  ! 

Safety  from  the  tyrant's  power ! 

Mercy  e'en  to  traitors  base  ! 
Hope  in  death's  last  solemn  hour ! 

Pardon  when  before  His  face  ! 
Lo,  the  dead  shall  rise  to  heaven  ! 

Brethren  hail  the  blest  decree  ; 
Every  sin  shall  be  forgiven, 

Hell  for  ever  cease  to  be ! 

CHORUS. 

When  the  golden  bowl  is  broken. 
Gentle  sleep  within  the  tomb ! 
Brethren,  may  a  gracious  doom 

By  the  Judge  of  man  be  spoken ! 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  29 


EESIGNATIOK 


Yes  !  even  I  was  in  Arcadia  born, 

And,  in  mine  infant  ears, 
A  vow  of  rapture  was  by  Nature  sworn ; 
Yes !  even  I  was  in  Arcadia  born, 
.  And  yet  my  short  spring  gave  me  only  —  tears  ! 

Once  blooms,  and  only  once,  life's  youthful  May ; 

For  me  its  bloom  hath  gone. 
The  silent  God  —  0  brethren,  weep  to-day  — 
The  silent  God  hath  quenched  my  torch's  ray. 

And  the  vain  dream  hath  flown. 

Upon  thy  darksome  bridge.  Eternity, 

I  stand  e'en  now,  dread  thought ! 
Take,  then,  these  joy-credentials  back  from  me ! 
Unopened  I  return  them  now  to  thee, 

Of  happiness,  alas,  know  nought ! 

Before  Thy  throne  my  mournful  cries  I  vent. 

Thou  Judge,  concealed  from  view ! 
To  yonder  star  a  joyous  saying  went : 
With  judgment's  scales  to  rule  us  thou  art  sent, 

And  call'st  thyself  Eequiter,  too  ! 

Here,  —  say  they,  —  terrors  on  the  bad  alight, 

And  joys  to  greet  the  virtuous  spring. 
The  bosom's  windings  thou'lt  expose  to  sight, 
Riddle  of  Providence  wilt  solve  aright. 
And  reckon  with  the  suffering ! 

Here  to  the  exile  be  a  home  outspread, 

Here  end  the  meek  man's  thorny  path  of  strife  ! 
A  godlike  child,  whose  name  was  Truth,  they  said. 


30  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

Known  but  to  few,  from  whom  the  many  fled, 
Restrained  the  ardent  bridle  of  my  hfe. 

"  It  shall  be  thine  another  life  to  live,  — 

Thy  youth  to  me  surrender ! 
To  thee  this  surety  only  can  I  give"  — 
I  took  the  surety  in  that  life  to  live ; 

And  gave  to  her  each  youthful  joy  so  tender. 

"  Give  me  the  woman  precious  to  thy  heart. 

Give  up  to  me  thy  Laura ! 
Beyond  the  grave  will  usury  pay  the  smart."  — 
I  wept  aloud,  and  from  my  bleeding  heart 

With  resicfnation  tore  her. 


'O' 


"  The  obHgation's  drawn  upon  the  dead  !  " 

Thus  laughed  the  world  in  scorn  ; 
"  The  lying  one,  in  league  with  despots  dread, 
For  truth,  a  phantom  palmed  on  thee  instead, 

Thou'lt    be    no   more,   when   once    this  dream    has 
gone !  " 

Shamelessly  scoffed  the  mockers'  serpent-band  : 
"  A  dream  that  but  prescription  can  admit 
Dost  dread  ?     Where  now  thy  God's  protecting  hand, 
(The  sick  world's  Saviour  with  such  cunning  planned). 
Borrowed  by  human  need  of  human  wit  ? 

"  What  future  is't  that  graves  to  us  reveal  ? 

What  the  eternity  of  thy  discourse  ? 
Honoured  because  dark  veils  its  form  conceal, 
The  giant-shadows  of  the  awe  we  feel. 

Viewed  in  the  hollow  mirror  of  remorse ! 

"  An  image  false  of  shapes  of  living  mould, 

(  Time's  very  mummy,  she  ! ) 
Whom  only  Hope's  sweet  balm  hath  power  to  hold 


POEMS  OF   SCHILLER  31 

Within  the  chambers  of  the  grave  so  cold, — 
Thy  fever  calls  this  immortality  ! 

"  For  empty  hopes,  —  corruption  gives  the  lie  — 

Didst  thou  exchange  what  thou  hadst  surely  done  ? 
Six  thousand  years  sped  death  in  silence  by,  —  » 

His  corpse  from  out  the  grave  e'er  mounted  high, 
That  mention  made  of  the  Requiting  One  ?  " 

I  saw  time  fly  to  reach  thy  distant  shore, 

I  saw  fair  Nature  he 
A  shrivelled  corpse  behind  him  evermore, — 
No  dead  from  out  the  grave  then  sought  to  soar 

Yet  in  that  Oath  divine  still  trusted  I. 

My  ev'ry  joy  to  thee  I've  sacrificed, 

I  throw  me  now  before  thy  judgment  throne ; 
The  many's  scorn  with  boldness  I've  despised, — 
Only  thy  gifts  by  me  were  ever  prized,  — 
I  ask  my  wages  now.  Requiting  One ! 

"  With  equal  love  I  love  each  child  of  mine  ! " 

A  genius  hid  from  sight  exclaimed. 
"  Two  flowers,"  he  cried,  "  ye  mortals,  mark  the  sign,  — 
Two  flowers  to  greet  the  Searcher  wise  entwine,  — 

Hope  and  Enjoyment  they  are  named. 

"  Who  of  these  flowers  plucks  one,  let  him  ne'er  yearn 

To  touch  the  other  sister's  bloom. 
Let  him  enjoy,  who  has  no  faith ;  eterne 
As  earth,  this  truth  !  —  Abstain,  who  faith  can  learn  ! 

The  world's  long  story  is  the  world's  own  doom. 

"  Hope  thou  hast  felt,  —  thy  wages,  then,  are  paid  ; 

Thy  faith  'twas  formed  the  rapture  pledged  to  thee. 
Thou  might'st  have  of  the  wise  inquiry  made,  — 
The  minutes  thou  neglectest,  as  they  fade, 

Are  given  back  by  no  eternity  !  " 


32  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

POEMS  OF  THE  THIRD   PERIOD. 
THE   MEETING. 

I  SEE  her  still  —  by  her  fair  train  surrounded, 
The  fairest  of  them  all,  she  took  her  place ; 

Afar  I  stood,  by  her  bright  charms  confounded, 
For,  oh !  they  dazzled  with  their  heavenly  grace. 

With  awe  my  soul  was  filled  —  with  bliss  unbounded, 
While  gazing  on  her  softly  radiant  face ; 

But  soon,  as  if  upborne  on  wings  of  fire. 

My  fingers  'gan  to  sweep  the  sounding  lyre. 

The  thoughts  that  rushed  across  me  in  that  hour, 
The  words  I  sang,  I'd  fain  once  more  invoke ; 

Within,  I  felt  a  new-awakened  power. 
That  each  emotion  of  my  bosom  spoke. 

My  soul,  long  time  enchained  in  sloth's  dull  bower, 
Through  all  its  fetters  now  triumphant  broke, 

And  brought  to  light  unknown,  harmonious  numbers, 

Which  in  its  deepest  depths,  had  lived  in  slumbers. 

And  when  the  chords  had  ceased  their  gentle  sighing, 
And  when  my  soul  rejoined  its  mortal  frame, 

I  looked  upon  her  face  and  saw  love  vying. 
In  every  feature,  with  her  maiden  shame. 

And    soon    my    ravished    heart    seemed    heavenward 
flying. 
When  her  soft  whisper  o'er  my  senses  came. 

The  blissful  seraphs'  choral  strains  alone 

Can  glad  mine  ear  again  with  that  sweet  tone. 

Of  that  fond  heart,  which,  pining  silently. 
Ne'er  ventures  to  express  its  feelings  lowly, 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  23 

The  real  and  modest  worth  is  known  to  me  — 
'Gainst  cruel  fate  I'll  guard  its  cause  so  holy. 

Most  blest  of  all,  the  meek  one's  lot  shall  be  — 

Love's   flowers  by  love's    own    hand    are    gathered 
solely  — 

The  fairest  prize  to  that  fond  heart  is  due, 

That  feels  it,  and  that  beats  responsive,  too  ! 


THE    SECEET. 

She  sought  to  breathe  one  word,  but  vainly ; 

Too  many  listeners  were  nigh  ; 
And  yet  my  timid  glance  read  plainly 

The  language  of  her  speaking  eye. 
Thy  silent  glades  my  footstep  presses, 

Thou  fair  and  leaf-embosomed  grove ! 
Conceal  within  thy  green  recesses 

From  mortal  eye  our  sacred  love ! 

Afar  with  strange  discordant  noises. 

The  busy  day  is  echoing ; 
And  'mid  the  hollow  hum  of  voices, 

I  hear  the  heavy  hammer  ring. 
'Tis  thus  that  man,  with  toil  ne'er  ending, 

Extorts  from  heaven  his  daily  bread ; 
Yet  oft  unseen  the  gods  are  sending 

The  gifts  of  fortune  on  his  head  ! 

Oh,  let  mankind  discover  never 

How  true  love  fills  with  bliss  our  hearts  1 
They  would  but  crush  our  joy  for  ever, 

For  joy  to  them  no  glow  imparts. 
Thou  ne'er  wilt  from  the  world  obtain  it  — 

'Tis  never  captured  save  as  prey  ; 
Thou  needs  must  strain  each  nerve  to  gain  it, 

E'er  envy  dark  asserts  her  sway. 


34  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

The  hours  of  night  and  stilhiess  loving, 

It  comes  upon  us  silently  — 
Away  with  hasty  footstep  moving 

Soon  as  it  sees  a  treacherous  eye. 
Thou  gentle  stream,  soft  circlets  weaving, 

A  watery  barrier  cast  around, 
And,  with  thy  waves  in  anger  heaving. 

Guard  from  each  foe  this  holy  ground ! 


THE   ASSIGNATION. 

[Note.  —  In  Schiller  the  eight  long  Hues  that  conclude  each 
stanza  of  this  charming  love-poem,  instead  of  rhyming  alter- 
nately as  in  the  translation,  chime  somewhat  to  the  tune  of  Byron's 
"  Don  Juan  "  —  six  lines  rhyming  with  each  other,  and  the  two  last 
forming  a  separate  couplet.  In  other  respects  the  translation,  it 
is  hoped,  is  sufficiently  close  and  literal.] 

Hear  I  the  creaking  gate  unclose  ? 

The  gleaming  latch  uplifted  ? 
No  —  'twas  the  wind  that,  whirring,  rose. 

Amidst  the  poplars  drifted  ! 
Adorn  thyself,  thou  green  leaf-bowering  roof, 

Destined  the  bright  one's  presence  to  receive, 
For  her,  a  shadowy  palace-hall  aloof 

With  holy  night,  thy  boughs  familiar  weave. 
And  ye,  sweet  flatteries  of  the  delicate  air, 

Awake  and  sport  her  rosy  cheek  around. 
When  their  light  weight  the  tender  feet  shall  bear. 

When  beauty  comes  to  passion's  trysting-ground. 


Hush  !  what  amidst  the  copses  crept  — 

So  swiftly  by  me  now  ? 
No  —  'twas  the  startled  bird  that  swept 

The  light  leaves  of  the  bough  ! 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  35 

Day,  quench  thy  torch  !  come,  ghostlike,  from  on  high, 

With  thy  loved  silence,  come,  thou  haunting  Eve, 
Broaden  below  thy  web  of  purple  dye, 

Which  lulled  boughs  mysterious  round  us  weave. 
For  love's  delight,  enduring  hsteners  none. 

The  froward  witness  of  the  light  will  flee  ; 
Hesper  alone,  the  rosy  silent  one, 

Down-glancing  may  our  sweet  familiar  be ! 

What  murmur  in  the  distance  spoke, 

And  like  a  whisper  died  ? 
No  —  'twas  the  swan  that  gently  broke 

In  rings  the  silver  tide  ! 
Soft  to  my  ear  there  comes  a  music-flow  ; 

In  gleesome  murmur  glides  the  waterfall ; 
To  zephyr's  kiss  the  flowers  are  bending  low ; 

Through  life  goes  joy,  exchanging  joy  with  all. 
Tempt  to  the  touch  the  grapes  —  the  blushing  fruit,^ 

Voluptuous  swelling  from  the  leaves  that  hide  ; 
And,  drinking  fever  from  my  cheek,  the  mute 

Air  sleeps  all  liquid  in  the  odour-tide  ! 

Hark !  through  the  alley  hear  I  now 

A  footfall  ?     Comes  the  maiden  ? 
No,  —  'twas  the  fruit  shd  from  the  bough, 

With  its  own  richness  laden  ! 

Day's  lustrous  eyes  grow  heavy  in  sweet  death, 

And  pale  and  paler  wane  his  jocund  hues. 
The  flowers,  too  gentle  for  his  glowing  breath, 

Ope  their  frank  beauty  to  the  twilight  dews. 
The  bright  face  of  the  moon  is  still  and  lone, 

Melts  in  vast  masses  the  world  silentlv ; 
Slides  from  each  charm  the  slowly-loosening  zone ; 

And  round  all  beauty,  veilless,  roves  the  eye. 

1  The  peach. 


36  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

What  yonder  seems  to  glimmer  ? 

Her  white  robe's  glaucing  hues  ? 
No,  —  'twas  the  colunm's  shimmer 

Athwart  the  darksome  yews ! 

Oh,  longing  heart,  no  more  delight-upbuoyed 

Let  the  sweet  airy  image  thee  befool ! 
The  arms  that  would  embrace  her  clasp  the  void  : 

This  feverish  breast  no  phantom-bliss  can  cooL 
Oh,  waft  her  here,  the  true,  the  living  one  ! 

Let  but  my  hand  her  hand,  the  tender,  feel  — 
The  very  shadow  of  her  robe  alone !  — 

So  into  life  the  idle  dream  shall  steal ! 

As  ghde  from  heaven,  when  least  we  ween, 

The  rosy  hours  of  bliss, 
All  gently  came  the  maid,  unseen  :  — 

He  waked  beneath  her  kiss  ! 


LONGING. 

Could  1  from  this  valley  drear, 

Where  the  mist  hangs  heavily, 
Soar  to  some  more  blissful  sphere, 

Ah  !  how  happy  should  I  be  ! 
Distant  hills  enchant  my  sight. 

Ever  young  and  ever  fair  ; 
To  those  hills  I'd  take  my  flight 

Had  I  wings  to  scale  the  air. 

Harmonies  mine  ear  assail. 

Tunes  that  breathe  a  heavenly  calm  ; 
And  the  gently-sighing  gale 

Greets  me  with  its  fragrant  balm. 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  37 

Peeping  through  the  shady  bowers, 
Golden  fruits  their  charms  display, 

And  those  sweetly-blooming  flowers 
Ne'er  become  cold  winter's  prey. 


In  yon  endless  sunshine  bright, 

Oh  !  what  bliss  'twould  be  to  dwell ! 
How  the  breeze  on  yonder  height 

Must  the  heart  with  rapture  swell ! 
Yet  the  stream  that  hems  my  path 

Checks  me  with  its  angry  frown, 
While  its  waves,  in  rising  wrath, 

Weigh  my  weary  spirit  down. 


See  —  a  bark  is  drawing  near, 

But,  alas,  the  pilot  fails  ! 
Enter  boldly  —  wherefore  fear  ? 

Inspiration  fills  its  sails. 
Faith  and  courage  make  thine  own, — 

Gods  ne'er  lend  a  helping  hand ; 
'Tis  by  magic  power  alone 

Thou  canst  reach  the  magic  land  ! 


EVENING. 

(after  a  picture.) 

Oh  !    thou  bright-beaming  god,  the  plains  are  thirst- 
ing, 
Thirsting  for  freshening  dew,  and  man  is  pining; 

Wearily  move  on  thy  horses  — 

Let,  then,  tliy  chariot  descend  ! 


38  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

Seest  thou  her  who,  from  ocean's  crystal  billows, 
Lovingly  nods  and  smiles  ?  —  Thy  heart  must  know 
her! 

Joyously  speed  on  thy  horses, — 

Tethys,  the  goddess,  'tis  nods  ! 

Swiftly  from  out  his  flaming  chariot  leaping, 

Into  her  arms  he  springs,  —  the  reins  takes  Cupid, — 

Quietly  stand  the  horses, 

Drinking  the  cooling  flood. 

Now  from  the  heavens  with  gentle  step  descending, 
Balmy  night  appears,  by  sweet  love  followed ; 

Mortals,  rest  ye,  and  love  ye,  — 

Phoebus,  the  loving  one,  rests  ! 


THE   IDEALS. 

And  wilt  thou,  faithless  one,  then,  leave  me, 

With  all  thy  magic  phantasy,  — 
With  all  the  thoughts  that  joy  or  grieve  me, 

Wilt  thou  with  all  for  ever  fly  ? 
Can  nought  delay  thine  onward  motion, 

Thou  golden  time  of  life's  young  dream  ? 
In  vain  !  eternity's  wide  ocean 

Ceaselessly  drowns  thy  rolhng  stream. 

The  glorious  suns  my  youth  enchanting 

Have  set  in  never-ending  night ; 
Those  blest  ideals  now  are  wanting 

That  swelled  my  heart  with  mad  delight. 
The  ofispring  of  my  dream  hath  perished, 

My  faith  in  being  passed  away ; 
The  godlike  hopes  that  once  I  cherished 

Are  now  reality's  sad  prey. 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  39 

As  once  Pygmalion,  fondly  yearning, 

Embraced  the  statue  formed  by  him, 
Till  the  cold  marble's  cheeks  were  burning, 

And  life  diffused  through  every  limb, — 
So  I,  with  youthful  passion  fired, 

My  longing  arms  round  Nature  threw. 
Till,  clinging  to  my  breast  inspired. 

She  'gan  to  breathe,  to  kindle  too. 


And  all  my  fiery  ardour  proving. 

Though  mute,  her  tale  she  soon  could  tell, 
Eeturned  each  kiss  I  gave  her  loving, 

The  throbbiugs  of  my  heart  read  well. 
Then  hving  seemed  each  tree,  each  flower. 

Then  sweetly  sang  the  waterfall. 
And  e'en  the  soulless  in  that  hour 

Shared  in  the  heavenly  bhss  of  all. 

For  then  a  circling  world  was  bursting 

My  bosom's  narrow  prison-cell. 
To  enter  into  being  thirsting. 

In  deed,  word,  shape,  and  souud  as  well. 
This  world,  how  wondrous  great  I  deemed  it, 

Ere  yet  its  blossoms  could  unfold ! 
When  open,  oh,  how  little  seemed  it ! 

That  little,  oh,  how  mean  and  cold ! 

How  happy,  winged  by  courage  daring. 

The  youth  life's  mazy  path  first  pressed  — 
No  care  his  manly  strength  impairing. 

And  in  his  dream's  sweet  vision  blest! 
The  dimmest  star  in  air's  dominion 

Seemed  not  too  distant  for  his  flight ; 
His  young  and  ever-eager  pinion 

Soared  far  beyond  all  mortal  sight. 


40  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

Thus  joyously  toward  heaven  ascending, 

Was  aught  for  his  bright  hopes  too  far  ? 
The  airy  guides  his  steps  attending, 

How  danced  they  rouud  hfe's  radiant  car! 
Soft  Love  was  there,  her  guerdon  bearing. 

And  Fortune,  with  her  crown  of  gold. 
And  Fame,  her  starry  chaplet  wearing. 

And  Truth,  in  majesty  untold. 


But  while  the  goal  was  yet  before  them, 

The  faithless  guides  began  to  stray ; 
Impatience  of  their  task  came  o'er  them, 

Then  one  by  one  they  dropped  away. 
Light-footed  Fortune  first  retreating, 

Then  Wisdom's  thirst  remained  unstilled, 
Wliile  heavy  storms  of  doubt  were  beathig 

Upon  the  path  Truth's  radiance  filled. 

I  saw  Fame's  sacred  wreath  adorning 

The  brows  of  an  unworthy  crew ; 
And,  ah !  how  soon  Love's  happy  morning. 

When  spring  had  vanished,  vanished  too ! 
More  silent  yet,  and  yet  more  weary, 

Became  the  desert  path  I  trod  ; 
And  even  Hope  a  glimmer  dreary 

Scarce  cast  upon  the  gloomy  road. 

Of  all  that  train,  so  bright  with  gladness, 

Oh,  who  is  faithful  to  the  end  ? 
Who  now  will  seek  to  cheer  my  sadness. 

And  to  the  grave  my  steps  attend  ? 
Thou,  Friendship,  of  all  guides  the  fairest, 

Who  gently  healest  every  wound ; 
Who  all  life's  heavy  burden  sharest. 

Thou,  whom  I  early  sought  and  found ! 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  41 

Employment  too,  thy  loving  neighbour, 

Who  quells  the  bosom's  rising  storms ; 
Who  ne'er  grows  weary  of  her  labour. 

And  ne'er  destroys,  though  slow  she  forms ; 
Who,  though  but  grains  of  sand  she  places 

To  swell  eternity  sublime, 
Yet  minutes,  days,  ay  !  years  effaces 

From  the  dread  reckoning  kept  by  Time ! 


MOUNTAIN  SONG. 

[The  scenery  of  Gotthardt  is  here  personified.] 

To  the  solemn  abyss  leads  the  terrible  path, 
The  life  and  death  winding  dizzy  between ; 

In  thy  desolate  way,  grim  with  menace  and  wrath, 
To  daunt  thee  the  spectres  of  giants  are  seen  ; 

That  thou  wake  not  the  wild  one,^  all  silently  tread  — 

Let  thy  lip  breathe  no  breath  in  the  pathway  of  dread ! 

High  over  the  marge  of  the  horrible  deep 

Hangs  and  hovers  a  bridge  with  its  phantom-like 
span,2 
Not  by  man  was  it  built,  o'er  the  vastness  to  sweep ; 

Such  thought  never  came  to  the  daring  of  man  ! 
The  stream  roars  beneath  —  late  and  early  it  raves  — 
But  the  bridge,  which  it  threatens,  is  safe  from    the 
waves. 


1  The  avalanche  — the  equivoque  of  the  original,  turning  on  the 
Swiss  word  Lawine,  here  called  Lowin,  the  lioness,  it  is  impos- 
sible to  make  iutelligible  to  the  English  reader.  The  giants  in  the 
preceding  line  are  the  rocks  that  overhang  the  pass  which  winds 
now  to  the  right,  now  to  the  left,  of  a  roarinLC  stream. 

2  The  Devirs  Bridge.  The  Land  of  Delight  (called  in  "  Tell "'  "  a 
serene  valley  of  joy  ")  to  which  the  dreary  portal  (in  "Tell  "  the 
black  rock  gate)  leads,  is  the  Urse  Vale.  The  four  rivers,  in  the 
next  stanza,  are  the  Reus,  the  Rhine,  the  Tessiu,  and  the  Rhone. 


42  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

Black-yawning,  a  portal  thy  soul  to  affright, 

Like   the  gate  to  the   kingdom,  the   fiend    for    the 
king  — 

Yet  beyond  it  there  smiles  but  a  land  of  delight, 

Where   the   autumn   in   marriage   is  met   with  the 


*&^ 


sprmg 


From  a  lot  which  the  care  and  the  trouble  assail. 
Could  I  fly  to  the  bliss  of  that  balm-breathing  vale  ! 


Through   that  field,  from   a  fount  ever  hidden  their 
birth, 
Four  rivers  in  tumult  rush  roaringly  forth ; 
They  fly  to  the  fourfold  divisions  of  earth  — 

The  sunrise,  the  sunset,  the  south,  and  the  north. 
And,  true  to  the  mystical  mother  that  bore, 
Forth    they   rush    to  their   goal,    and   are   lost   ever- 
more. 


High  over  the  races  of  men  in  the  blue 

Of  the  ether,  the  mount  in  twin  summits  is  riven ; 

There,  veiled  in  the  gold-woven  webs  of  the  dew. 
Moves  the  dance  of  the  clouds  —  the  pale  daughters 
of  heaven ! 

There,  in  solitude,  circles  their  mystical  maze, 

Where  no  witness  can  hearken,  no  earth-born  surveys. 


August  on  a  throne  which  no  ages  can  move. 
Sits  a  queen,  in  her  beauty  serene  and  sublime,^ 

The  diadem  blazing  with  diamonds  above 

The  glory  of  brows,  never  darkened  by  time ; 

His  arrows  of  light  on  that  form  shoots  the  sun  — 

And  he  gilds  them  with  all,  but  he  warms  them  with 
none ! 

1  The  everlasting  glacier.     See  "  William  Tell,"  act  v.  scene  2. 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  43 


THE    ALPINE    HUNTER. 

Wilt  thou  not  the  lambkios  guard  ? 

Oh,  how  soft  and  meek  they  look, 
Feeding  on  the  grassy  sward, 

Sporting  round  the  silvery  brook ! 
"  Mother,  mother,  let  me  go 
On  yon  heights  to  chase  the  roe ! " 

Wilt  thou  not  the  flock  compel 
With  the  horn's  inspiring  notes  ? 

Sweet  the  echo  of  yon  bell, 
As  across  the  wood  it  floats ! 
"  Mother,  mother,  let  me  go 

On  yon  heights  to  hunt  the  roe ! " 

Wilt  thou  not  the  flow'rets  bind, 
SmiHng  gently  in  their  bed  ? 

For  no  garden  thou  wilt  find 

On  yon  heights  so  wild  and  dread. 
"  Leave  the  flow'rets,  —  let  them  blow  ! 

Mother,  mother,  let  me  go ! " 

And  the  youth  then  sought  the  chase. 
Onward  pressed  with  headlong  speed 

To  the  mountain's  gloomiest  place,  — 
Nought  his  progress  could  impede ; 

And  before  him,  like  the  wind. 

Swiftly  flies  the  trembling  hind. 

Up  the  naked  precipice 

Clambers  she,  with  footsteps  light, 
O'er  the  chasm's  dark  abyss 

Leaps  with  spring  of  daring  might ; 
But  behind,  unweariedly, 
With  his  death-bow  follows  he. 


44  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

Now  upon  the  rugged  top 

Stands  she,  —  on  the  loftiest  height, 
Where  the  chfis  abruptly  stop, 

And  the  path  is  lost  to  sight. 
There  she  views  the  steeps  below,  — 
Close  behind,  her  mortal  foe. 

She,  with  silent,  woeful  gaze. 
Seeks  the  cruel  boy  to  move ; 

But,  alas  !  in  vain  she  prays  — 
To  the  string  he  fits  the  groove. 

When  from  out  the  clefts,  behold ! 

Steps  the  Mountain  Genius  old. 

With  his  hand  the  Deity 

Shields  the  beast  that  trembling  sighs ; 
"  Must  thou,  even  up  to  me, 

Death  and  anguish  send  ?  "  he  cries.  — 
Earth  has  room  for  all  to  dwell,  — 
"  Why  pursue  my  loved  gazelle  ? " 


THE   FOUR    AGES    OF   THE   WORLD. 

The  goblet  is  sparkling  with  purpled-tinged  wuie, 
Bright  ghstens  the  eye  of  each  guest, 

When  into  the  hall  comes  the  Minstrel  divine, 
To  the  good  he  now  brings  what  is  best ; 

For  when  from  Elysium  is  absent  the  lyre, 

No  joy  can  the  banquet  of  nectar  inspire. 

He  is  blessed  by  the  gods  with  an  intellect  clear, 
That  mirrors  the  world  as  it  glides ; 

He  has  seen  all  that  ever  has  taken  place  here. 
And  all  that  the  future  still  hides. 

He  sat  in  the  gods'  secret  councils  of  old 

And  heard  the  command  for  each  thing  to  unfold. 


POEMS  OF   SCHILLER  45 

He  opens  in  splendour,  with  gladness  and  mirth, 
That  life  which  was  hid  from  our  eyes  ; 

Adorns  as  a  temple  the  dwelhng  of  earth, 
That  the  Muse  has  bestowed  as  his  prize ; 

No  roof  is  so  humble,  no  hut  is  so  low, 

But  he  with  divinities  bids  it  o'erflow. 

And  as  the  inventive  descendant  of  Zeus, 

On  the  unadorned  round  of  the  shield. 
With  knowledge  divine  could,  reflected,  produce 

Earth,  sea,  and  the  stars'  shining  field,  — 
So  he,  on  the  moments,  as  onward  they  roll, 
The  image  can  stamp  of  the  infinite  whole. 

From  the  earUest  age  of  the  world  he  has  come. 

When  nations  rejoiced  in  their  prime ; 
A  wanderer  glad,  he  has  still  found  a  home 

With  every  race  through  all  time. 
Four  ages  of  man  in  his  lifetime  have  died. 
And  the  place  they  once  held  by  the  fifth  is  supplied. 

Saturnus  first  governed,  with  fatherly  smile, 

Each  day  then  resembled  the  last ; 
Then  flourished  the  shepherds,  a  race  without  guile  — 

Their  bliss  by  no  care  was  o'ercast ; 
They  loved,  —  and  no  other  employment  they  had, 
And  earth  gave  her  treasures  with  willingness  glad. 

Then  labour  came  next,  and  the  conflict  began 
With  monsters  and  beasts  famed  in  song  ; 

And  heroes  upstarted,  as  rulers  of  man, 

And  the  weak  sought  the  aid  of  the  strong. 

And  strife  o'er  the  field  of  Scamander  now  reigned. 

But  Beauty  the  god  of  the  world  still  remained. 

At  length  from  the  conflict  bright  victory  sprang. 
And  gentleness  blossomed  from  might ; 


46  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

In  heavenly  chorus  the  Muses  then  sang, 

And  figures  divine  saw  the  hght ;  — 
The  age  that  acknowledged  sweet  phantasy's  sway 
Can  never  return,  it  has  fleeted  away. 

The  gods  from  their  seats  in  the  heavens  were  hurled. 

And  their  pillars  of  glory  o'erthrown ; 
And  the  Son  of  the  Virgin  appeared  in  the  world 

For  the  sins  of  mankind  to  atone. 
The  fugitive  lusts  of  the  sense  were  suppressed. 
The    man    now  first    grappled    with    thought   in    his 
breast. 

Each  vain  and  voluptuous  charm  vanished  now, 
Wherein  the  young  world  took  delight ; 

The  monk  and  the  nun  made  of  penance  a  vow. 
And  the  tourney  was  sought  by  the  knight. 

Though  the  aspect  of  life  was  now  dreary  and  wild, 

Yet  love  remained  ever  both  lovely  and  mild. 

An  altar  of  holiness,  free  from  all  stain. 

The  Muses  in  silence  upreared"; 
And  all  that  was  noble  and  worthy,  again 

In  woman's  chaste  bosom  appeared ; 
The  bright  flame  of  song  was  soon  kindled  anew 
By  the    minstrel's   soft  lays,  and   his  love  pure  and 
true. 

And  so,  in  a  gentle  and  ne'er-changing  band, 

Let  woman  and  minstrel  unite  ; 
They  weave  and  they  fashion,  with  hand   joined  to 
hand. 

The  girdle  of  beauty  and  right. 
When  love  blends  with  music,  in  unison  sweet. 
The  lustre  of  life's  youthful  days  ne'er  can  fleet. 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  47 


THE   MAIDEN'S   LAMENT. 

The  clouds  fast  gather, 

The  forest-oaks  roar  — 
A  maideu  is  sitting 

Beside  the  green  shore, — 
The  billows  are  breaking  with  might,  with  might, 
And  she  sighs  aloud  in  the  darkling  night, 
Her  eyelid  heavy  with  weeping. 

"  My  heart's  dead  within  me. 
The  world  is  a  void ; 
To  the  wish  it  gives  nothing. 
Each  hope  is  destroyed. 
I  have  tasted  the  fulness  of  bliss  below 
I   have    lived,  I    have  loved,  —  Thy    child,    oh,   take 
now. 
Thou  Holy  One,  into  Thy  keeping ! " 

"  In  vain  is  thy  sorrow, 
In  vain  thy  tears  fall. 
For  the  dead  from  their  slumbers 
They  ne'er  can  recall ; 
Yet  if  aught  can  pour  comfort  and  balm  in  thy  heart. 
Now  that  love  its  sweet  pleasures  no  more  can  impart. 
Speak  thy  wish,  and  thou  granted  shalt  find  it '  " 


1 


"  Though  in  vain  is  my  sorrow, 

Though  in  vain  my  tears  fall,  — 
Though  the  dead  from  their  slumbers 
They  ne'er  can  recall, 
Yet  no  balm  is  so  sweet  to  the  desolate  heart. 
When  love  its  soft  pleasures  no  more  can  impart. 
As  the  torments  that  love  leaves  behind  it ! " 


48  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 


NADOWESSIAN   DEATH  -  LAMENT. 

See,  he  sitteth  on  his  mat 

Sitteth  there  upright, 
With  the  grace  with  which  he  sat 

While  he  saw  the  hght. 

Where  is  uow  the  sturdy  gripe,  — 

Where  the  breath  sedate, 
That  so  lately  whiffed  the  pipe 

Toward  the  Spirit  great  ? 

Where  the  bright  and  falcon  eye, 

That  the  reindeer's  tread 
On  the  waving  grass  could  spy. 

Thick  with  dewdrops  spread  ? 

Where  the  limbs  that  used  to  dart 
Swifter  through  the  snow 

Than  the  twenty-membered  hart, 
Thau  the  mountain  roe  ? 

Where  the  arm  that  sturdily 

Bent  the  deadly  bow  ? 
See,  its  life  hath  fleeted  by,  — 

See,  it  hangeth  low  ! 

Happy  he  !  —  He  now  has  gone 
Where  no  snow  is  found  : 

Where  with  maize  the  fields  are  sown, 
Self-sprung  from  the  ground  ; 

Where  with  birds  each  bush  is  filled. 
Where  with  game  the  wood ; 

Where  the  fish,  with  joy  unstilled, 
Wanton  in  the  flood. 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  49 

With  the  spirits  blest  he  feeds,  — 

Leaves  us  here  in  gloom  ; 
We  can  only  praise  his  deeds, 

And  his  corpse  entomb. 

Farewell-gifts,  then,  hither  bring, 

Sound  the  death-note  sad ! 
Bury  with  him  everything 

That  can  make  him  glad  ! 

'Neath  liis  head  the  hatchet  hide 

That  he  boldly  swung  ; 
And  the  bear's  fat  haunch  beside, 

For  the  road  is  long ; 

And  the  knife,  well  sharpened, 

That,  with  slashes  three. 
Scalp  and  skin  from  foeman's  head 

Tore  off  skilfully. 

And  to  paint  his  body,  place 

Dyes  within  his  hand  ; 
Let  him  shine  with  ruddy  grace 

In  the  spirit-land  ! 


THE    CEANES    OF    IBYCUS. 

A    BALLAD. 

Once  to  the  song  and  chariot-fight, 
Where  all  the  tribes  of  Greece  unite 
On  Corinth's  isthmus  joyously, 
The  god-loved  Ibycus  drew  nigh. 
On  him  Apollo  had  bestowed 

The  gift  of  song  and  strains  inspired ; 
So,  with  hght  staff,  he  took  his  road 

From  Ehegium,  by  the  godhead  fired. 


50  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

Acrocorinth,  on  mountain  high, 
Now  burns  upon  the  wanderer's  eye, 
And  he  begins,  with  pious  dread, 
Poseidon's  gi-ove  of  firs  to  tread. 
Nought  moves  around  him,  save  a  swarm 

Of  cranes,  who  guide  him  on  his  way ; 
Wlio  from  far  southern  regions  warm 

Have  hither  come  in  squadron  gray. 


"  Thou  friendly  band,  all  hail  to  thee ! 
Who  led'st  me  safely  o'er  the  sea ! 
I  deem  thee  as  a  favouring  sign, — 
My  destiny  resembles  thine. 
Both  come  from  a  far  distant  coast. 

Both  pray  for  some  kind  sheltering  place ;  ■ 
Propitious  toward  us  be  the  host 

Who  from  the  stranger  wards  disgrace ! " 

And  on  he  hastes,  in  joyous  mood. 
And  reaches  soon  the  middle  wood 
When,  on  a  narrow  bridge,  by  force 
Two  murderers  sudden  bar  his  course. 
He  must  prepare  him  for  the  fray. 

But  soon  his  wearied  hand  sinks  low ; 
Inured  the  gentle  lyre  to  play, 

It  ne'er  has  strung  the  deadly  bow. 

On  gods  and  men  for  aid  he  cries, — 
No  saviour  to  his  prayer  replies ; 
However  far  his  voice  he  sends. 
Nought  living  to  his  cry  attends. 
"  And  must  I  in  a  foreign  land. 

Unwept,  deserted,  perish  here. 
Falling  beneath  a  murderous  hand, 

Where  no  avenger  can  appear  ? " 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  51 

Deep-wounded,  down  he  sinks  at  last, 
When,  lo !  the  cranes'  wings  rustle  past. 
He  hears,  —  though  he  no  more  can  see, — 
Their  voices  screaming  fearfully. 
"  By  you,  ye  cranes,  that  soar  on  high, 

If  not  another  voice  is  heard, 
Be  borne  to  heaven  my  murder-cry  !  " 

He  speaks,  and  dies,  too,  with  the  word. 

The  naked  corpse,  ere  long,  is  found, 
And,  though  defaced  by  many  a  wound, 
His  host  in  Corinth  soon  could  tell 
The  features  that  he  loved  so  well. 
•<  And  is  it  thus  I  find  thee  now, 

Who  hoped  the  pine's  victorious  crown 
To  place  upon  the  singer's  brow. 

Illumined  by  his  bright  renown  ? " 

The  news  is  heard  with  grief  by  aU 
Met  at  Poseidon's  festival ; 
All  Greece  is  conscious  of  the  smart. 
He  leaves  a  void  in  every  heart ; 
And  to  the  Prytauis  ^  swift  hie 

The  people,  and  they  urge  him  on 
The  dead  man's  manes  to  pacify 

And  with  the  murderer's  blood  atone. 

But  where's  the  trace  that  from  the  throng, 
The  people's  streaming  crowds  among, 
Allured  there  by  the  sports  so  bright. 
Can  bring  the  \'illain  back  to  light  ? 
By  craven  robbers  was  he  slain  ? 

Or  by  some  envious  hidden  foe  ? 
Tliat  Hehos  only  can  explain, 

Whose  rays  illume  all  things  below. 

1  President  of  Council  of  Five  Hundred. 


52  POEMS  OF   SCHILLER 

Perchance,  with  shameless  step  and  proud, 
He  threads  e'en  now  the  Grecian  crowd  — 
Whilst  vengeance  follows  in  pursuit. 
Gloats  over  his  transgression's  fruit. 
The  very  gods  perchance  he  braves 

Upon  the  threshold  of  their  fane,  — 
Joins  boldly  in  the  human  waves 

That  haste  yon  theatre  to  gain. 

For  there  the  Grecian  tribes  appear, 
Fast  pouring  in  from  far  and  near ; 
On  close-packed  benches  sit  they  there,  — 
The  stage  the  weight  can  scarcely  bear. 
Like  ocean-billows'  hollow  roar, 

The  teeming  crowds  of  living  man 
Toward  the  cerulean  heavens  upsoar, 

In  bow  of  ever-widening  span. 

Who  knows  the  nation,  who  the  name. 
Of  all  who  there  together  came  ? 
From  Theseus'  town,  from  Aulis'  strand, 
From  Phocis,  from  the  Spartan  land. 
From  Asia's  distant  coast  they  wend, 

From  every  island  of  the  sea, 
And  from  the  stage  they  hear  ascend 

The  chorus's  dread  melody. 

Who,  sad  and  solemn,  as  of  old. 
With  footsteps  measured  and  controlled, 
Advancing  from  the  far  background, 
Circle  the  theatre's  wide  round  ? 
Thus,  mortal  women  never  move ! 

No  mortal  liome  to  them  gave  birth ! 
Their  giant-bodies  tower  above. 

High  o'er  the  puny  sons  of  earth. 


POEMS  OF   SCHILLER  53 

With  loins  in  mantle  black  concealed, 
Within  their  fleshless  hands  they  wield 
The  torch,  tliat  with  a  dull  red  glows,  — 
Wliile  in  their  cheek  no  life-blood  flows ; 
And  where  the  hair  is  floating  wide 

And  loving,  round  a  mortal  brow, 
Here  snakes  and  adders  are  descried. 

Whose  bellies  swell  with  poison  now. 

And,  standing  in  a  fearful  ring, 
The  dread  and  solemn  chant  they  sing, 
That  through  the  bosom  thrilling  goes, 
And  round  the  sinner  fetters  throws. 
Sense-robbing,  of  heart-maddening  power, 

The  furies'  strains  resound  through  air ; 
The  listener's  marrow  they  devour,  — 

The  lyre  can  yield  such  numbers  ne'er. 

"  Happy  the  man  who,  blemish-free. 
Preserves  a  soul  of  purity  ! 
Near  him  we  ne'er  avenging  come. 
He  freely  o'er  life's  path  may  roam. 
But  woe  to  him  who,  hid  from  view. 

Hath  done  the  deed  of  murder  base  ' 
Upon  his  heels  we  close  pursue,  — 

We,  who  belong  to  night's  dark  race  ! 

"  And  if  he  thinks  to  'scape  by  flight. 
Winged  we  appear,  our  snare  of  might 
Around  his  flying  feet  to  cast, 
So  that  he  needs  must  fall  at  last. 
Thus  we  pursue  him,  tiring  ne'er,  — 

Our  wrath  repentance  cannot  quell,  — 
On  to  the  shadows,  and  e'en  there 

We  leave  him  not  in  peace  to  dwell ! " 


54  POEMS   OF   SCHILLER 

Thus  singing,  they  the  dance  resume, 
And  silence,  hke  that  of  the  tomb, 
O'er  the  whole  house  hes  heavily, 
As  if  the  Deity  were  nigh. 
And  staid  and  solemn,  as  of  old, 

Circling  the  theatre's  wide  round. 
With  footsteps  measured  and  controlled, 

They  vanish  in  the  far  background. 

Between  deceit  and  truth  each  breast 
Now  doubting  hangs,  by  awe  possessed, 
And  homage  pays  to  that  dread  might, 
That  judges  what  is  hid  from  sight, — 
That,  fathomless,  inscrutable, 

The  gloomy  skein  of  fate  entwines, 
That  reads  the  bosom's  depths  full  well. 

Yet  flies  away  where  sunlight  shines. 

When  sudden,  from  the  tier  most  high, 
A  voice  is  heard  by  all  to  cry ! 
"  See  there,  see  there,  Timotheus  ! 
Behold  the  cranes  of  Ibycus ! " 
The  heavens  became  as  black  as  night, 

And  o'er  the  theatre  they  see, 
Far  overhead,  a  dusky  flight 

Of  cranes,  approaching  hastily. 

"  Of  Ibycus  !  "  —That  name  so  blest 
With  new-born  sorrow  fills  each  breast. 
As  waves  on  waves  in  ocean  rise. 
From  mouth  to  mouth  it  swiftly  flies ! 
"  Of  Ibycus,  whom  we  lament  ? 

Who  fell  beneath  the  murderer's  hand  ? 
What  mean  those  words  that  from  him  went  ? 
What  means  this  cranes'  advancing  band  ? " 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  55 

And  louder  still  become  the  cries, 
And  soon  this  thought  foreboding  flies 
Through  every  heart,  with  speed  of  light  — 
"  Observe  in  this  the  furies'  might ! 
The  poets  manes  are  now  appeased : 

The  murderer  seeks  liis  own  arrest ! 
Let  him  who  spoke  the  word  be  seized, 

And  him  to  whom  it  was  addressed!" 


That  word  he  had  no  sooner  spoke, 
Than  he  its  sound  would  fain  invoke ; 
In  vain !  his  mouth,  with  terror  pale. 
Tells  of  his  guilt  the  fearful  tale. 
Before  the  judge  they  drag  them  now, 

The  scene  becomes  the  tribunal ; 
Their  crimes  the  villains  both  avow, 

When  'neath  the  veugeance-stroke  they  fall. 


HEEO   AND   LEANDEPv. 

A   BALLAD. 

[We  have  already  seen  in  "The  Ring  of  Polycrates,"  Schiller's 
mode  of  dealing  with  classical  subjects.  In  the  poems  that  i'ollow, 
derived  from  similar  sources,  the  same  spirit  is  maintained.  In 
spite  of  Humboldt,  we  venture  to  think  that  Schiller  certainly  does 
not  narrate  Greek  legends  in  the  spirit  of  an  ancient  Greek.  The 
Gothic  sentiment,  in  its  ethical  depth  and  mournful  tenderne.ss, 
more  or  less  pervades  all  that  he  translates  from  classic  fable  into 
modern  pathos.  The  grief  of  Hero,  in  the  ballad  subjoined, 
touches  closely  on  the  lamentations  of  Thekla,  in  "  Wallenstein." 
The  complaint  of  Ceres  embodies  Christian  grief  and  Christian 
hope.  The  Trojan  Cassandra  expresses  the  moral  of  the  Northern 
Faust.  Even  the  "Victory  Feast"  changes  the  whole  spirit  of 
Homer,  on  whom  it  is  founded,  by  the  introduction  of  the  ethical 
sentiment  at  the  close,  borrowed,  as  a  modern  would  apply  what 
he  so  borrows,  from  the  moralising  Horace.  Nothing  can  be  more 
foreign  to  the  Hellenic  genius  (if  we  except  the  very  disputable  in- 
tention of  the  "  rrometheus"),  than  the  interior  and  typical  design 


S6'  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

which  usually  exalts  every  couception  in  Schiller.  But  it  is  per- 
fectly open  to  the  modern  poet  to  treat  of  ancient  legends  in  the 
modern  spirit.  Tliough  he  selects  a  Greek  story,  he  is  still  a 
modern  who  narrates  —  he  can  never  make  himself  a  Greek  any 
more  than  ^^schylus  in  the  "  Perste  "  could  make  himself  a  Per- 
sian. But  this  is  still  more  the  privilege  of  the  poet  in  narrative, 
or  lyrical  composition,  than  in  the  drama,  for  in  the  former  he 
does  not  abandon  his'  identity,  as  in  the  latter  he  must  —  yet  even 
this  must  has  its  limits.  Shakespeare's  wonderful  power  of  self- 
transfusion  has  no  doubt  enabled  him,  in  his  plays  from  Roman 
history,  to  animate  his  characters  with  much  of  Roman  life.  But 
no  one  can  maintain  that  a  Roman  would  ever  have  written  plays 
in  the  least  resembling  "Julius  CtBsar,"  or  "Coriolanus,"  or 
"Antony  and  Cleopatra,"  The  portraits  may  be  Roman,  but 
they  are  painted  in  the  manner  of  the  Gothic  school.  The  spirit 
of  antiquity  is  only  in  them,  inasmuch  as  the  representation  of 
human  nature,  under  certain  circumstances,  is  accurately,  though 
loosely,  outlined.  When  the  poet  raises  the  dead,  it  is  not  to  re- 
store, but  to  remodel.] 


See  you  the  towers,  that,  gray  and  old, 
Frown  through  the  sunlight's  liquid  gold, 

Steep  sternly  fronting  steep  ? 
The  Hellespont  beneath  them  swells. 
And  roaring  cleaves  the  Dardanelles, 

The  rock-gates  of  the  deep  ! 
Hear  you  the  sea,  whose  stormy  wave, 

From  Asia,  Europe  clove  in  thunder  ? 
That  sea  which  rent  a  world,  cannot 

Eend  love  from  love  asunder! 

In  Hero's,  in  Leander's  heart, 
Thrills  the  sweet  anguish  of  the  dart 

Whose  feather  flies  from  love. 
All  Hebe's  bloom  in  Hero's  cheek  — 
And  his  the  hunter's  steps  that  seek 

Delight,  the  hills  above  ! 
Between  their  sires  the  rival  feud 

Forbids  their  plighted  hearts  to  meet ; 
Love's  fruits  hang  over  danger's  gulf, 

By  danger  made  more  sweet. 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  57 

Alone  on  Sestos'  rocky  tower, 

Where  upward  sent  in  stormy  shower, 

The  whirling  waters  foam, — 
Alone  the  maiden  sits,  and  eyes 
The  cliffs  of  fair  Abydos  rise 

Afar  —  her  lover's  home. 
Oh,  safely  thrown  from  strand  to  strand. 

No  bridge  can  love  to  love  convey  ; 
No  boatman  shoots  from  yonder  shore, 

Yet  Love  has  found  the  way.  — 

That  love,  which  could  the  labyrinth  pierce  — 
Which  nerves  the  weak  and  curbs  the  fierce. 

And  wings  with  wit  the  dull ;  — 
That  love  which  o'er  the  furrowed  land 
Bowed  —  tame  beneath  young  Jason's  hand  — 

The  fiery-snorting  bull ! 
Yes,  Styx  itself,  that  ninefold  flows. 

Has  love,  the  fearless,  ventured  o'er, 
And  back  to  dayhght  borne  the  bride, 

From  Pluto's  dreary  shore  ! 

What  marvel  then  that  wind  and  wave, 
Leander  doth  but  burn  to  brave. 

When  love,  that  goads  him,  guides  ! 
Still  when  the  day,  with  fainter  glimmer, 
Wanes  pale  —  he  leaps,  the  daring  swimmer. 

Amid  the  darkening  tides ; 
With  lusty  arms  he  cleaves  the  waves. 

And  strikes  for  that  dear  strand  afar ; 
Where  high  from  Hero's  lonely  tower 

Lone  streams  the  beacon-star. 

In  vain  his  blood  the  wave  may  chill. 
These  tender  arms  can  warm  it  still  — 
And,  weary  if  the  way, 


$8  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

By  many  a  sweet  embrace,  above 
All  earthly  boons  —  can  liberal  love 

The  lover's  toil  repay, 
Until  Aurora  breaks  the  dream, 

And  warns  the  loiterer  to  depart  — 
Back  to  the  ocean's  icy  bed, 

Scared  from  that  loving  heart. 


So  thirty  suns  have  sped  their  flight  — 
Still  in  that  theft  of  sweet  delight 

Exult  the  happy  pair  ; 
Caress  will  never  pall  caress. 
And  joys  that  gods  might  envy,  bless 

The  single  bride-night  there. 
Ah  !  never  he  has  rapture  known. 

Who  has  not,  where  the  waves  are  driven 
Upon  the  fearful  shores  of  hell. 

Plucked  fruits  that  taste  of  heaven  ! 


Now  changing  in  their  season  are, 
The  morning  and  tlie  Hesper  star :  — 

Nor  see  those  happy  eyes 
The  leaves  that  withering  droop  and  fall, 
Nor  hear,  when,  from  its  northern  hall, 

The  neighbouring  winter  sighs  ; 
Or,  if  they  see,  the  shortening  days 

But  seem  to  them  to  close  in  kindness ; 
For  longer  joys,  in  lengthening  nights. 

They  thank  the  heaven  in  blindness. 

It  is  the  time,  when  night  and  day, 
In  equal  scales  contend  for  sway  ^  — 
Lone,  on  her  rocky  steep, 

1  This  notes  the  thne  of  year  —  not  the  time  of  day  —  viz., 
about  the  23d  of  September.  — Hoffmeisteb. 


POEMS  OF   SCHILLER  59 

Lingers  the  girl  with  wistful  eyes 

That  watch  the  suu-steeds  down  the  skies, 

Careering  towards  the  deep. 
Lulled  lay  the  smooth  and  silent  sea, 

A  mirror  in  translucent  calm, 
The  breeze,  along  that  crystal  realm, 

Unmurmuring,  died  in  balm. 

In  wanton  swarms  and  blithe  array, 
The  merry  dolphins  glide  and  play 

Amid  the  silver  waves. 
In  gray  and  dusky  troops  are  seen, 
The  hosts  that  serve  the  ocean-queen. 

Upborne  from  coral  caves : 
They  —  only  they  —  have  witnessed  love 

To  rapture  steal  its  secret  way  : 
And  Hecate  ^  seals  the  only  lips 

That  could  the  tale  betray ! 

She  marks  in  joy  the  lulled  water, 
And  Sestos,  thus  thy  tender  daughter. 

Soft-flattering,  woos  the  sea  ! 
"  Fair  god  —  and  canst  thou  then  betray  ? 
No !  falsehood  dwells  with  them  that  say 

That  falsehood  dwells  with  thee ! 
Ah  !  faithless  is  the  race  of  man, 

And  harsh  a  father's  heart  can  prove ; 
But  thee,  the  gentle  and  the  mild, 

The  grief  of  love  can  move ! 

"  Within  these  hated  walls  of  stone, 
Should  I,  repining,  mourn  alone, 

And  fade  in  ceaseless  care. 
But  thou,  though  o'er  thy  giant  tide, 
Nor  bridge  may  span,  nor  boat  may  ghde. 
Dost  safe  my  lover  bear. 
1  Hecate  as  the  mysterious  goddess  of  Nature.  —  Hoffmeister. 


6o  POEMS   OF   SCHILLER 

And  darksome  is  thy  solemn  deep, 
And  fearful  is  thy  roaring  wave ; 

But  wave  and  deep  are  won  by  love  — 
Thou  smilest  on  the  brave ! 

"  Nor  vainly,  sovereign  of  the  sea. 
Did  Eros  send  his  shafts  to  thee : 

What  time  the  ram  of  gold, 
Bright  Helle,  with  her  brother  bore, 
How  stirred  the  waves  she  wandered  o'er. 

How  stirred  thy  deeps  of  old  ! 
Swift,  by  the  maiden's  charms  subdued, 

Thou  cam'st  from  out  the  gloomy  waves. 
And  in  thy  mighty  arms,  she  sank 

Into  thy  bridal  caves. 

"  A  goddess  with  a  god,  to  keep 
In  endless  youth,  beneath  the  deep. 

Her  solemn  ocean-court ! 
And  still  she  smooths  thine  angry  tides. 
Tames  thy  wild  heart,  and  favouring  guides 

The  sailor  to  the  port ! 
Beautiful  Helle,  bright  one,  hear 

Thy  lone  adoring  suppliant  pray  ! 
And  guide,  0  goddess  —  guide  my  love 

Along  the  wonted  way  ! " 

Now  twihght  dims  the  waters'  flow. 
And  from  the  tower,  the  beacon's  glow 

Waves  flickering  o'er  the  main. 
Ah,  where  athwart  the  dismal  stream, 
Shall  shine  the  beacon's  faithful  beam 

The  lover's  eyes  shall  strain  ? 
Hark  !  sounds  moan  threatening  from  afar  — 

From  heaven  the  blessed  stars  are  gone  — 
More  darkly  swells  the  rising  sea  — 

The  tempest  labours  on  ! 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  6i 

Along  the  ocean's  boundless  plains 
Lies  night  —  in  torrents  rush  the  rains 

From  the  dark -bosomed  cloud  — 
Ked  lightning  skirs  the  panting  air, 
And,  loosed  from  out  their  rocky  lair, 

Sweep  all  the  storms  abroad. 
Huge  wave  on  huge  wave  tumbling  o'er, 

The  yawning  gulf  is  rent  asunder, 
And  shows,  as  through  an  opening  pall, 

Grim  earth  —  the  ocean  under ! 


Poor  maiden  !  bootless  wail  or  vow  — 
"  Have  mercy,  Jove  —  be  gracious,  thou  ! 

Dread  prayer  was  mine  before ! 
What  if  the  gods  have  heard  —  and  he, 
Lone  victim  of  the  stormy  sea, 

Now  struggles  to  the  shore ! 
There's  not  a  sea-bird  on  the  wave  — 

Their  hurrying  wings  the  shelter  seek ; 
The  stoutest  ship  the  storms  have  proved 

Takes  refuge  in  the  creek. 

"  Ah,  still  that  heart,  which  oft  has  braved 
The  danger  where  the  daring  saved, 

Love  lureth  o'er  the  sea  ;  — 
For  many  a  vow  at  parting  morn. 
That  nought  but  death  should  bar  return, 

Breathed  those  dear  lips  to  me  ; 
And  whirled  around,  the  while  I  weep, 

Amid  the  storm  that  rides  the  wave, 
The  giant  gulf  is  grasping  down 

The  rash  one  to  the  grave ! 

"  False  Pontus !  and  the  calm  I  hailed, 
The  awaiting  murder  darkly  veiled  — 
The  lulled  pellucid  flow. 


62  POEMS  OF   SCHILLER 

The  smiles  in  which  thou  wert  arrayed, 
Were  but  the  snares  that  love  betrayed 

To  thy  false  realm  below ! 
Now  in  the  midway  of  the  main, 

Eeturn  relentlessly  forbidden, 
Thou  loosenest  on  the  path  beyond 

The  horrors  thou  hadst  liidden." 

Loud  and  more  loud  the  tempest  raves. 
In  thunder  break  the  mountain  waves, 

White-foaming  on  the  rock  — 
No  ship  that  ever  swept  the  deep 
Its  ribs  of  gnarled  oak  could  keep 

Unshattered  by  the  shock. 
Dies  in  the  blast  the  guiding  torch 

To  hght  the  straggler  to  the  strand  ; 
'Tis  death  to  battle  with  the  wave. 

And  death  no  less  to  land ! 

On  Venus,  daughter  of  the  seas, 
She  calls,  the  tempest  to  appease  — 

To  each  wild-shrieking  wind 
Along  the  ocean-desert  borne, 
She  vows  a  steer  with  golden  horn  — 

Vain  vow  —  relentless  wind  ! 
On  every  goddess  of  the  deep, 

On  all  the  gods  in  heaven  that  be. 
She  calls  —  to  soothe  in  calm,  awhile 

The  tempest-laden  sea ! 

"  Hearken  the  anguish  of  my  cries  ! 
From  thy  green  halls,  arise  —  arise, 

Leucothoe  the  divine ! 
Who,  in  the  barren  main  afar. 
Oft  on  the  storm-beat  mariner 
Dost  gently-saving  shine. 


POEMS   OF  SCHILLER  63 

Oh,  reach  to  him  thy  mystic  veil, 

To  which  the  drowning  clasp  may  cling, 

And  safely  from  that  roaring  grave, 
To  shore  my  lover  bring  !  " 

And  now  the  savage  winds  are  hushing. 
And  o'er  the  arched  horizon,  blushing, 

Day's  chariot  gleams  on  high  ! 
Back  to  their  wonted  channels  rolled, 
In  crystal  calm  the  waves  behold 

One  smile  on  sea  and  sky  ! 
All  softly  breaks  the  rippling  tide. 

Low-murmuring  on  the  rocky  land, 
And  playful  wavelets  gently  float 

A  corpse  upon  the  strand  ! 

'Tis  he  !  —  who  even  in  death  would  still 
Not  fail  the  sweet  vow  to  fulfil ; 

She  looks  —  sees  —  knows  him  there  ! 
From  her  pale  lips  no  sorrow  speaks, 
No  tears  ghde  down  her  hueless  cheeks  ; 

Cold  —  numbed  in  her  despair  — 
She  looked  along  the  silent  deep, 

She  looked  upon  the  brightening  heaven, 
Till  to  the  marble  face  the  soul 

Its  light  subhme  had  given  ! 

"  Ye  solemn  powers  men  shrink  to  name, 
Your  might  is  here,  your  rights  ye  claim  — 

Yet  think  not  I  repine : 
Soon  closed  my  course ;  yet  I  can  bless 
The  life  that  brought  me  happiness  — 

The  fairest  lot  was  mine ! 
Living  have  I  thy  temple  served. 

Thy  consecrated  priestess  been  — 
My  last  glad  offering  now  receive 

Venus,  thou  mightiest  queen  ! " 


64  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

Flashed  the  white  robe  along  the  air, 
And  from  the  tower  that  beetled  there 

She  sprang  into  the  wave  ; 
Housed  from  his  throne  beneath  the  waste, 
Those  holy  forms  the  god  embraced  — 

A  god  himself  their  grave  ! 
Pleased  with  his  prey,  he  glides  along  — 

More  blithe  the  murmured  music  seems, 
A  gush  from  unexhausted  urns 

His  everlasting  streams  ! 


THE  HOSTAGE. 

A    BALLAD. 

The  tyrant  Dionys  to  seek, 

Stern  Mcerus  with  his  poniard  crept ; 
The  watchful  guard  upon  him  swept ; 
The  grim  king  marked  his  changeless  cheek : 
"  What  would  st  thou  with  thy  poniard  ?      Speak  ! " 
"  The  city  from  the  tyrant  free ! " 
"  The  death-cross  shall  thy  guerdon  be." 

"  I  am  prepared  for  death,  nor  pray," 
Eephed  that  haughty  man,  "  to  live  ; 
Enough,  if  thou  one  grace  wilt  give. 

For  three  brief  suns  the  death  delay 

To  wed  my  sister  —  leagues  away  ; 

I  boast  one  friend  whose  life  for  mine, 

If  I  should  fail  the  cross,  is  thine." 

The  tyrant  mused,  —  and  smiled,  —  and  said 

With  gloomy  craft,  "  So  let  it  be ; 

Three  days  I  will  vouchsafe  to  thee. 
But  mark  —  if,  when  the  time  be  sped, 
Thou  fail'st  —  thy  surety  dies  instead. 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  65 

His  life  shall  buy  thine  own  release ; 
Thy  guilt  atoned,  my  wrath  shall  cease." 


He  sought  his  friend  —  "  The  king's  decree 
Ordains  my  life  the  cross  upon 
Shall  pay  the  deed  I  would  have  done ; 

Yet  grants  three  days'  delay  to  me, 

My  sister's  marriage-rites  to  see  ; 

If  thou,  the  hostage,  wilt  remain 

Till  I  —  set  free  —  return  again  !  " 

His  friend  embraced  —  No  word  he  said, 
But  silent  to  the  tyrant  strode  — 
The  other  went  upon  his  road. 

Ere  the  third  sun  in  heaven  was  red. 

The  rite  was  o'er,  the  sister  wed  ; 

And  back,  with  anxious  heart  uuquailing, 

He  hastes  to  hold  the  pledge  unfailing. 

Down  the  great  rains  unending  bore, 

Down  from  the  hills  the  torrents  rushed, 
In  one  broad  stream  the  brooklets  gushed ; 
The  wanderer  halts  beside  the  shore. 
The  bridge  was  swept  the  tides  before  — 
The  shattered  arches  o'er  and  under 
Went  the  tumultuous  waves  in  thunder. 

Dismayed  he  takes  his  idle  stand  — 

Dismayed,  he  strays  and  shouts  around ; 
His  voice  awakes  no  answering  sound. 

No  boat  will  leave  the  sheltering  strand. 

To  bear  liim  to  the  wished-for  land  ; 

No  boatman  will  Death's  pilot  be ; 

The  wild  stream  gathers  to  a  sea  ! 


66  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

Sunk  by  the  banks,  awhile  he  weeps, 
Then  raised  his  arms  to  Jove,  and  cried, 
"  Stay  thou,  oh  stay  the  maddening  tide ; 
Midway  behold  the  swift  sun  sweeps, 
And,  ere  he  sinks  adown  the  deeps, 
If  I  should  fail,  his  beams  will  see 
My  friend's  last  anguish  —  slain  for  me  ! " 

More  fierce  it  runs,  more  broad  it  flows, 
And  wave  on  wave  succeeds  and  dies  — 
And  hour  on  hour  remorseless  flies ; 
Despair  at  last  to  daring  grows  — 
Amidst  the  flood  his  form  he  throws  ; 
With  vigorous  arms  the  roaring  waves 
Cleaves  —  and  a  God  that  pities,  saves. 

He  wins  the  bank  —  he  scours  the  strand. 
He  thanks  the  God  in  breathless  prayer ; 
When  from  the  forest's  gloomy  lair, 
With  ragged  club  in  ruthless  hand. 
And  breathing  murder  —  rushed  the  band 
That  find,  in  woods,  their  savage  den. 
And  savage  prey  in  wandering  men. 

"  What,"  cried  he,  pale  with  generous  fear  ; 
"  What  think  to  gain  ye  by  the  strife  ? 
All  I  bear  with  me  is  my  Hfe  — 
I  take  it  to  the  king ! "  —  and  here 
He  snatched  the  club  from  him  most  near ; 
And  thrice  he  smote,  and  thrice  his  blows 
Dealt  death  —  before  him  fly  the  foes  ! 

The  sun  is  glowing  as  a  brand ; 

And  faint  before  the  parching  heat, 
The  strength  forsakes  the  feeble  feet : 
"  Thou  hast  saved  me  from  the  robbers'  hand, 

Through  wild  floods  given  the  blessed  land ; 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  6; 

And  shall  the  weak  limbs  fail  me  now  ? 
And  he  !  — Divine  one,  nerve  me,  thou!  " 


Hark  !  like  some  gracious  murmur  by, 
Babbles  low  music,  silver-clear  — 
The  wanderer  holds  his  breath  to  hear ; 
And  from  the  rock,  before  his  eye. 
Laughs  forth  the  spring  delightedly  ; 
Now  the  sweet  waves  he  bends  him  o'er. 
And  the  sweet  waves  his  strength  restore. 


o» 


Through  the  green  boughs  the  sun  gleams  dying. 
O'er  fields  that  drink  the  rosy  beam, 
The  trees'  huge  shadows  giant  seem  ; 

Two  strangers  on  the  road  are  hieing, 

And  as  they  fleet  beside  him  flying. 

These  muttered  words  his  ear  dismay  : 
"  Now  —  now  the  cross  has  claimed  its  prey  ! 

Despair  his  winged  path  pursues. 

The  anxious  terrors  hound  him  on  — 
There,  reddening  in  the  evening  sun, 

From  far,  the  domes  of  Syracuse  !  — 

When  toward  him  comes  Philostratus 

(His  leal  and  trusty  herdsman  he). 

And  to  the  master  bends  his  knee. 


"  Back  — thou  canst  aid  thy  friend  no  more, 
The  niggard  time  already  flown  — 
His  life  is  forfeit  —  save  thine  own  : 
Hour  after  hour  in  hope  he  bore. 
Nor  might  his  soul  its  faith  give  o'er ; 
Nor  could  the  tyrant's  scorn  deriding, 
Steal  from  that  faith  one  thought  confiding !  " 


68  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

"  Too  late  !  what  horror  hast  thou  spoken  ! 

Vaiu  life,  since  it  cannot  requite  him ! 

But  death  with  me  can  yet  unite  him  ; 
No  boast  the  tyrant's  scorn  shall  make  — 
How  friend  to  friend  can  faith  forsake. 
But  from  the  double  death  shall  know, 
That  truth  and  love  yet  live  below  ! " 

The  sun  sinks  down  —  the  gate's  in  view, 
The  cross  looms  dismal  on  the  ground  — 
The  eager  crowd  gape  murmuring  round. 

His  friend  is  bound  the  cross  unto.  .  .  . 

Crowd  —  guards  —  all  bursts  he  breathless  through 
"  Me !  Doomsmau,  me !  "  he  shouts,  "  alone  ! 

His  life  is  rescued  —  lo,  mine  own  !  " 


Amazement  seized  the  circling  ring ! 

Linked  in  each  other's  arms  the  pair  — 
Weeping  for  joy  —  yet  anguish  there  ! 
Moist  every  eye  that  gazed  ;  —  they  bring 
The  wondrous  tidings  to  the  king  — 
His  breast  man's  heart  at  last  hath  known, 
And  the  friends  stand  before  his  throne. 


Long  silent,  he,  and  wondering  long, 
Gazed  on  the  pair  —  "  In  peace  depart, 
Victors,  ye  have  subdued  my  heart ! 

Truth  is  no  dream  !  —  its  power  is  strong. 

Give  grace  to  him  who  owns  his  wrong ! 

'Tis  mine  your  suppliant  now  to  be. 

Ah,  let  the  band  of  love  —  be  three  ! " 

This  story,  the  heroes  of  which  are  more  properly  known  to  us 
under  the  names  of  Damon  and  Pythias  (or  Phintias),  Schiller 
took  from  Hyginus,  in  whom  tlie  friends  are  called  Mcerus  and 
Selinuntius.  Schiller  has  somewhat  amplified  the  incidents  in 
the  original,  in  which  the  delay  of  Mcerus  is  occasioned  only  by 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  69 

the  swollen  stream  —  the  other  hiudrauces  are  of  Schiller's  inven- 
tion. The  subject,  like  "The  Ring  of  Polycrates,"  does  not 
admit  of  that  rich  poetry  of  description  witli  which  our  author 
usually  adorns  some  single  passage  in  his  narratives.  Tlie 
poetic  spirit  is  rather  shown  in  the  terse  brevity  with  which  pic- 
ture after  picture  is  not  only  sketched  but  finished  —  and  in  the 
great  thought  at  the  close.  Still  it  is  not  one  of  Schiller's  best 
ballads.  His  additions  to  the  original  story  are  not  happy. 
The  incident  of  the  robbers  is  commonplace  and  poor.  The  de- 
lay occasioned  by  the  thirst  of  Moerus  is  clearly  open  to  Goethe's 
objection  (an  objection  showing  very  nice  perception  of  nature)  — 
that  extreme  thirst  was  not  likely  to  happen  to  a  man  who  had 
lately  passed  through  a  stream  on  a  rainy  day,  and  whose  clothes 
must  have  been  saturated  with  moisture  —  iior,  in  the  traveller's 
preoccupied  state  of  mind,  is  it  probable  that  he  would  have  so 
much  felt  the  mere  physical  want.  With  less  reason  has  it  been 
urged  by  other  critics,  that  the  sudden  relenting  of  the  tyrant  is 
contrary  to  his  character.  The  tyrant  here  has  no  individual 
character  at  all.  He  is  the  mere  personation  of  disbelief  in  truth 
and  love  —  which  the  spectacle  of  sublime  self-abnegation  at  once 
converts.  In  this  idea  lies  the  deep  philosophical  truth,  which 
redeems  all  the  defects  of  the  piece  —  for  poetry,  in  its  highest 
form,  is  merely  this  —  "  Truth  made  beautiful." 


THE   KNIGHT   OF   TOGGENBUKG. 

A    BALLAD. 

"  I  CAN  love  thee  well,  believe  me, 

As  a  sister  true  ; 
Other  love,  Sir  Knight,  would  grieve  me, 

Sore  my  heart  would  rue. 
Calmly  would  I  see  thee  going, 

Calmly,  too,  appear ; 
For  those  tears  in  silence  flowing 

Find  no  answer  here." 


Thus  she  speaks,  —  he  hears  her  sadly,  — 
How  his  heartstrings  bleed  ! 

In  his  arms  he  clasps  her  madly. 
Then  he  mounts  his  steed. 


70 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

From  the  Switzer  land  collects  he 

All  his  warriors  brave  ;  — 
Cross  on  breast,  their  course  directs  he 

To  the  Holy  Grave. 

In  triumphant  march  advancing, 

Onward  moves  the  host. 
While  their  morion  plumes  are  dancing 

Where  the  foes  are  most. 
Mortal  terror  strikes  the  Paynim 

At  the  chieftain's  name  ; 
But  the  knight's  sad  thoughts  enchain  him 

Grief  consumes  his  frame. 

Twelve  long  months,  with  courage  daring, 

Peace  he  strives  to  find ; 
Then,  at  last,  of  rest  despairing, 

Leaves  the  host  behind : 
Sees  a  ship,  whose  sails  are  swelling, 

Lie  on  Joppa's  strand  ; 
Ships  him  homeward  for  her  dwelling, 

In  his  own  loved  land. 

Now  behold  the  pilgrim  weary 

At  her  castle  gate  ! 
But  alas  !  these  accents  dreary 

Seal  his  mournful  fate  : 
"  She  thou  seek'st  her  troth  hath  plighted 

To  all-gracious  heaven ; 
To  her  God  she  was  united 

Yesterday  at  even  !  " 

To  his  father's  home  for  ever 

Bids  he  now  adieu  ; 
Sees  no  more  his  arms  and  beaver, 

Nor  his  steed  so  true. 
Then  descends  he,  sadly,  slowly,  — 

None  suspect  the  sight,  — 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  71 

For  a  garb  of  penance  lowly- 
Wears  the  noble  knight. 

Soon  he  now,  the  tempest  braving, 

Builds  an  humble  shed, 
Where  o'er  the  lime-trees  darkly  waving, 

Peeps  the  convent's  head. 
From  the  orb  of   day's  first  gleaming, 

Till  his  race  has  run, 
Hope  in  every  feature  beaming, 

There  he  sits  alone. 

Toward  the  convent  straining  ever 

His  unwearied  eyes,  — 
From  her  casement  looking  never 

Till  it  open  flies, 
Till  the  loved  one,  soft  advancing, 

Shows  her  gentle  face. 
O'er  the  vale  her  sweet  eye  glancing. 

Full  of  angel-grace. 

Then  he  seeks  his  bed  of  rushes, 

Stilled  all  grief  and  pain. 
Slumbering  calm,  till  morning's  blushes 

Waken  life  again. 
Days  and  years  fleet  on,  yet  never 

Breathes  he  plaint  or  sighs, 
On  her  casement  gazing  ever 

Till  it  open  flies. 

Till  the  loved  one,  soft  advancing, 

Shows  her  gentle  face, 
O'er  the  vale  her  sweet  eyes  glancing. 

Full  of  angel-grace. 
But  at  length,  the  morn  returning 

Finds  him  dead  and  chill ;  — 
Pale  and  wan,  his  gaze,  with  yearning, 

Seeks  her  casement  still. 


72  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 


THE   FIGHT    WITH    THE   DEAGON. 

Why  run  the  crowd  ?     What  means  the  throng 

That  rushes  fast  the  streets  along  ? 

Can  Khodes  a  prey  to  flames,  then,  be  ? 

In  crowds  they  gather  hastily, 

And,  on  his  steed,  a  noble  knight 

Amid  the  rabble,  meets  my  sight ; 

Behind  him  —  prodigy  unknown  !  — 

A  monster  fierce  they're  drawing  on ; 

A  dragon  seems  it  by  its  shape. 

With  wide  and  crocodile-like  jaw. 
And  on  the  knight  and  dragon  gape, 

In  turns,  the  people,  filled  with  awe. 

And  thousand  voices  shout  with  glee : 
"  The  fiery  dragon  come  and  see. 
Who  hind  and  flock  tore  limb  from  limb  !  — 
The  hero  see,  who  vanquished  him  ! 
Full  many  a  one  before  him  went. 
To  dare  the  fearful  combat  bent, 
But  none  returned  home  from  the  fight ; 
Honour  ye,  then,  the  noble  knight ! " 
And  toward  the  convent  move  they  all, 

While  met  in  hasty  council  there 
The  brave  knights  of  the  Hospital, 

St.  John  the  Baptist's  Order,  were. 

Up  to  the  noble  master  sped 
The  youth,  with  firm  but  modest  tread ; 
The  people  followed  with  wild  shout. 
And  stood  the  landing-place  about, 
While  thus  outspoke  that  daring  one : 
"  My  knightly  duty  I  have  done. 
The  dragon  that  laid  waste  the  land 
Has  fallen  beneath  my  conquering  hand. 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  73 

The  way  is  to  the  wanderer  free, 

The  shepherd  o'er  the  plains  may  rove 

Across  the  mountains  joyfully 

The  pilgrim  to  the  shrine  may  move." 

But  sternly  looked  the  prince,  and  said : 
"  The  hero's  part  thou  well  hast  played : 

By  courage  is  the  true  knight  known,  — 

A  dauntless  spirit  thou  hast  shown. 

Yet  speak  !     What  duty  first  should  he 

Regard,  who  would  Christ's  champion  be, 

Who  wears  the  emblem  of  the  Cross  ?" 

And  all  turned  pale  at  his  discourse. 

Yet  he  replied,  with  noble  grace, 
While  blushingly  he  bent  him  low : 
"  That  he  deserves  so  proud  a  place 
Obedience  best  of  all  can  show." 

"  My  son,"  the  master  answering  spoke, 
"  Thy  daring  act  this  duty  broke. 

The  conflict  that  the  law  forbade 

Thou  hast  with  impious  mind  essayed."  — 
"  Lord,  judge  when  all  to  thee  is  known," 

The  other  spake  in  steadfast  tone,  — • 
"  ¥oT  I  the  law's  commands  and  will 

Purposed  with  honour  to  fulfil. 

I  went  not  out  with  heedless  thought. 
Hoping  the  monster  dread  to  find ; 

To  conquer  in  the  fight  I  sought 
By  cunning,  and  a  prudent  mind. 

"  Five  of  our  noble  Order,  then 
(Our  faith  could  boast  no  better  men), 
Had  by  their  daring  lost  their  life, 
When  thou  forbadest  us  the  strife. 
And  yet  my  heart  I  felt  a  prey 
To  gloom,  and  panted  for  the  fray ; 


74  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

Ay,  even  in  the  stilly  night, 

In  vision  gasped  I  in  the  fight ; 

And  when  the  glimmering  morning  came, 

And  of  fresh  troubles  knowledge  gave, 
A  raging  grief  consumed  my  frame, 

And  I  resolved  the  thing  to  brave. 

"  And  to  myself  I  thus  began : 
'  What  is't  adorns  the  youth,  the  man  ? 
What  actions  of  the  heroes  bold, 
Of  whom  in  ancient  song  we're  told, 
Blind  heathendom  raised  up  on  high 
To  godhke  fame  and  dignity  ? 
The  world,  by  deeds  known  far  and  wide, 
From  monsters  fierce  they  purified  ; 
The  lion  in  the  fight  they  met, 

And  wrestled  with  the  minotaur, 
Unhappy  victims  free  to  set. 

And  were  not  sparing  of  their  gore. 

" '  Are  none  but  Saracens  to  feel 
The  prowess  of  the  Christian  steel  ? 
False  idols  only  shall  be  brave  ? 
His  mission  is  the  world  to  save ; 
To  free  it,  by  his  sturdy  arm. 
From  every  hurt,  from  every  harm ; 
Yet  wisdom  must  his  courage  bend, 
And  cunning  must  with  strength  contend.' 
Thus  spake  I  oft,  and  went  alone 

The  monster's  traces  to  espy  ; 
When  on  my  mind  a  bright  light  shone, — 
'  I  have  it ! '  was  my  joyful  cry. 

"  To  thee  I  went,  and  thus  I  spake : 
'  My  homeward  journey  I  would  take.' 
Thou,  lord,  didst  grant  my  prayer  to  me,  — 
Then  safely  traversed  I  the  sea ; 


POEMS   OF   SCHILLER  75 

And,  when  I  reached  my  native  strand, 
I  caused  a  skilful  artist's  hand 
To  make  a  dragon's  image  true 
To  his  that  now  so  well  I  knew. 
On  feet  of  measure  short  was  placed 

Its  lengthy  body's  heavy  load ; 
A  scaly  coat  of  mail  embraced 
■  The  back,  ou  which  it  fiercely  showed. 

"  Its  stretching  neck  appeared  to  sweU, 
And,  ghastly  as  a  gate  of  hell. 
Its  fearful  jaws  were  open  wide, 
As  if  to  seize  the  prey  it  tried ; 
And  in  its  black  mouth,  ranged  about, 
Its  teeth  in  prickly  rows  stood  out ; 
Its  tongue  was  like  a  sharp-edged  sword, 
And  lightning  from  its  small  eyes  poured ; 
A  serpent's  tail  of  many  a  fold 

Ended  its  body's  monstrous  span, 
And  round  itself  with  fierceness  rolled. 
So  as  to  clasp  both  steed  and  man. 

"  I  formed  the  whole  to  nature  true. 
In  skin  of  gi'ay  and  hideous  hue ; 
Part  dragon  it  appeared,  part  snake. 
Engendered  in  the  poisonous  lake. 
And,  when  the  figure  was  complete, 
A  pair  of  dogs  I  chose  me,  fleet. 
Of  mighty  strength,  of  nimble  pace. 
Inured  the  savage  boar  to  chase ; 
The  dragon,  then,  I  made  them  bait, 

Inflaming  them  to  fury  dread. 
With  their  sharp  teeth  to  seize  it  straight, 

And  with  my  voice  their  motions  led. 

"  And,  where  the  belly's  tender  skin 
Allowed  the  tooth  to  enter  in. 


76  POEMS  OF   SCHILLER 

I  taught  them  how  to  seize  it  there, 
And,  with  their  fangs,  the  part  to  tear. 
I  mounted,  then,  my  Arab  steed. 
The  oif spring  of  a  noble  breed ; 
My  hand  a  dart  on  high  held  forth, 
And,  when  I  had  inflamed  his  wrath, 
I  stuck  my  sharp  spurs  in  his  side. 

And  urged  him  on  as  quick  as  thought, 
And  hurled  my  dart  in  'circles  wide 

As  if  to  pierce  the  beast  I  sought. 

"  And  though  my  steed  reared  high  in  pain, 
And  champed  and  foamed  beneath  the  rein, 
And  though  the  dogs  howled  fearfully, 
Till  they  were  calmed  ne'er  rested  I. 
This  plan  I  ceaselessly  pursued. 
Till  thrice  the  moon  had  been  renewed  ; 
And  when  they  had  been  duly  taught, 
In  swift  ships  here  I  had  them  brought ; 
And  since  my  foot  these  shores  has  pressed 

Flown  has  three  mornings'  narrow  span ; 
I  scarce  allowed  my  limbs  to  rest 

Ere  I  the  mighty  task  began. 

"  For  hotly  was  my  bosom  stirred 
When  of  the  land's  fresh  grief  I  heard ; 
Shepherds  of  late  had  been  his  prey, 
When  in  the  marsh  they  went  astray. 
I  formed  my  plans  then  hastily,  — 
My  heart  was  all  that  counselled  me. 
My  squires  instructing  to  proceed, 
I  sprang  upon  my  well-trained  steed. 
And,  followed  by  my  noble  pair 

Of  dogs,  by  secret  pathways  rode, 
Where  not  an  eye  could  witness  bear. 

To  find  the  monster's  fell  abode. 


POEMS  OF   SCHILLER  '  77 

"  Thou,  lord,  must  know  the  chapel  well, 
Pitched  on  a  rocky  pinnacle, 
That  overlooks  the  distant  isle ; 
A  daring  mind  'twas  raised  the  pile. 
Though  humble,  mean,  and  small  it  shows, 
Its  walls  a  miracle  enclose,  — 
The  Virgin  and  her  infant  Son, 
Vowed  by  the  three  kings  of  Cologne. 
By  three  times  thirty  steps  is  led 

The  pilgrim  to  the  giddy  height ; 
Yet,  when  he  gains  it  with  bold  tread, 

He's  quickened  by  his  Saviour's  sight. 

"  Deep  in  the  rock  to  which  it  clings, 
A  cavern  dark  its  arms  outflings. 
Moist  with  the  neighbouring  moorland's  dew, 
Where  heaven's  bright  rays  can  ne'er  pierce  through. 
There  dwelt  the  monster,  there  he  lay, 
His  spoil  awaiting,  night  and  day ; 
Like  the  hell-dragon,  thus  he  kept 
Watch  near  the  shrine  and  never  slept ; 
And  if  a  hapless  pilgiim  chanced 

To  enter  on  that  fatal  way, 
From  out  his  ambush  quick  advanced 

The  foe,  and  seized  him  as  his  prey. 

'*  I  mounted  now  the  rocky  height ; 
Ere  I  commenced  the  fearful  fight, 
There  knelt  I  to  the  infant  Lord, 
And  pardon  for  my  sins  implored. 
Then  in  the  holy  fane  I  placed 
My  shining  armour  round  my  waist. 
My  right  hand  grasped  my  javelin, — 
The  fight  then  went  I  to  begin ; 
Instructions  gave  my  squires  among. 
Commanding  them  to  tarry  there  ; 
Then  on  my  steed  I  nimbly  sprung. 
And  gave  my  spirit  to  God's  care. 


78  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

"  Soon  as  I  reached  the  level  plain, 
My  dogs  found  out  the  scent  amain  ; 
My  frightened  horse  soon  reared  on  high, — 
His  fear  I  could  not  pacify, 
For,  coiled  up  in  a  circle,  lo ! 
There  lay  the  fierce  and  hideous  foe. 
Sunning  himself  upon  the  ground. 
Straight  at  him  rushed  each  nimble  hound ; 
Yet  thence  they  turned,  dismayed  and  fast, 

When  he  his  gaping  jaws  op'd  wide, 
Vomited  forth  his  poisonous  blast, 

And  lilvC  the  howling  jackal  cried. 

"  But  soon  their  courage  I  restored ; 
They  seized  with  rage  the  foe  abhorred ; 
While  I  against  the  beast's  loins  threw 
My  spear  with  sturdy  arm  and  true : 
But,  powerless  as  a  bulrush  frail, 
It  bounded  from  his  coat  of  mail ; 
And  ere  I  could  repeat  the  throw. 
My  horse  reeled  wildly  to  and  fro 
Before  his  basilisk-like  look. 

And  at  his  poison-teeming  breath,  — 
Sprang  backward,  and  with  terror  shook. 

While  I  seemed  doomed  to  certain  death. 

"  Then  from  my  steed  I  nimbly  sprung, 
My  sharp-edged  sword  with  vigour  swung ; 
Yet  all  in  vain  my  strokes  I  plied, — 
I  could  not  pierce  his  rock-like  hide. 
His  tail  with  fury  lashing  round. 
Sudden  he  bore  me  to  the  ground. 
His  jaws  then  opening  fearfully, 
With  angry  teeth  he  struck  at  me ; 
But  now  my  dogs,  with  wrath  new-born, 

Rushed  on  his  belly  with  fierce  bite, 
So  that,  by  dreadful  anguish  torn, 

He  howling  stood  before  my  sight. 


POEMS  OF   SCHILLER  79 

"  And  ere  he  from  their  teeth  was  free, 
I  raised  myself  up  hastily, 
The  weak  place  of  the  foe  explored, 
And  in  his  entrails  plunged  my  sword, 
Sinking  it  even  to  the  hilt ; 
Black  gushing  forth,  his  blood  was  spilt. 
Down  sank  he,  burying  in  his  fall 
Me  with  his  body's  giant  ball, 
So  that  my  senses  quickly  fled ; 

And  when  I  woke  with  strength  renewed. 
The  dragon  in  his  blood  lay  dead, 

While  round  me  grouped  my  squires  all  stood." 

The  joyous  shouts,  so  long  suppressed. 
Now  burst  from  every  hearer's  breast, 
Soon  as  the  knight  these  words  had  spoken ; 
And  ten  times  'gainst  the  high  vault  broken, 
The  sound  of  mingled  voices  rang, 
Ee-echoing  back  with  hollow  clang 
The  Order's  sons  demand,  in  haste. 
That  with  a  crown  his  brow  be  graced, 
And  gratefully  in  triumph  now 

The  mob  the  youth  would  bear  along, 
When,  lo  !  the  master  knit  his  brow, 

And  called  for  silence  'mongst  the  throng. 

And  said,  "  The  dragon  that  this  land 
Laid  waste,  thou  slew'st  with  daring  hand ; 
Although  the  people's  idol  thou, 
The  Order's  foe  I  deem  thee  now. 
Thy  breast  has  to  a  fiend  more  base 
Than  e'en  this  dragon  given  place. 
The  serpent  that  the  heart  most  stmgs. 
And  hatred  and  destruction  brings. 
That  spirit  is,  which  stubborn  lies. 
And  impiously  cast  off  the  rein, 


8o  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

Despising  order's  sacred  ties ; 

'Tis  that  destroys  the  world  amain. 

"  The  Mameluke  makes  of  courage  boast, 
Obedience  decks  the  Christian  most ; 
For  where  our  great  and  blessed  Lord 
As  a  mere  servant  walked  abroad, 
The  fathers,  on  that  holy  ground. 
This  famous  Order  chose  to  found, 
That  arduous  duty  to  fulfil. 
To  overcome  one's  own  self-will ! 
'Twas  idle  glory  moved  thee  there  : 

So  take  thee  hence  from  out  my  sight ! 
For  who  the  Lord's  yoke  cannot  bear. 

To  wear  his  cross  can  have  no  right." 

A  furious  shout  now  raise  the  crowd, 
The  place  is  filled  with  outcries  loud ; 
The  brethren  all  for  pardon  cry ; 
The  youth  in  silence  droops  his  eye  — 
Mutely  his  garment  from  him  throws, 
Kisses  the  master's  hand,  and  —  goes. 
But  he  pursues  him  with  his  gaze, 
Eecalls  him  lovingly,  and  says  : 
"  Let  me  embrace  thee  now,  my  son ! 

The  harder  fight  is  gained  by  thee. 
Take,  then,  this  cross  —  the  guerdon  won 

By  self-subdued  humility." 


NATUKALISTS   AND    TRANSCENDENTAL 
PHILOSOPHERS. 

Enmity    be    between   ye !     Your   union   too    soon   is 
cemented ; 
Ye  will  but  learn  to  know  truth  when  ye  divide  in 
the  search. 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  8i 

THE   COUNT    OF    HAPSBUKG.i 

A    BALLAD. 

At  Aix-la-Chapelle,  in  imperial  array, 

In  its  halls  renowned  in  old  story, 
At  the  coronation  banquet  so  gay 

King  Rudolf  was  sitting  in  glory. 
The  meats  were  served  up  by  the  Palsgrave  of  Pthine, 
The  Bohemian  poured  out  the  bright  sparkling  wine, 

And  all  the  Electors,  the  seven. 
Stood  waiting  around  the  world-governing  one, 
As  the  chorus  of  stars  encircle  the  sun. 

That  honour  might  duly  be  given. 

And  the  people  the  lofty  balcony  round 

In  a  throng  exulting  were  filling ; 
While  loudly  were  blending  the  trumpets'  glad  sound. 

The  multitude's  voices  so  thrilling ; 
For  the  monarchless  period,  with  horror  rife, 
Has  ended  now,  after  long  baneful  strife. 

And  the  earth  had  a  lord  to  possess  her. 
No  longer  ruled  blindly  the  iron-bound  spear. 
And  the  weak  and  the  peaceful  no  longer  need  fear 

Being  crushed  by  the  cruel  oppressor. 

And  the  emperor  speaks  with  a  smile  in  his  eye. 

While  the  golden  goblet  he  seizes : 
"  With  this  banquet  in  glory  none  other  can  vie. 

And  my  regal  heart  well  it  pleases  ; 
Yet  the  minstrel,  the  briuger  of  joy,  is  not  here, 
Whose  melodious  strains  to  my  heart  are  so  dear. 

And  whose  words  heavenly  wisdom  inspire  ; 

1  The  somewhat  irregular  metre  of  the  original  has  been  pre- 
served in  this  ballad,  as  in  other  poems  ;  although  the  perfect 
anapaestic  metre  is  perhaps  more  familiar  to  the  English  ear. 


82  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

Since  the  days  of  my  youth  it  hath  been  my  delight 
And  that  which  I  ever  have  loved  as  a  knight, 
As  a  monarch  I  also  require." 

And    behold !  'mongst    the   princes   who  stand  round 
the  throne, 

Steps  the  bard,  in  his  robe  long  and  streaming, 
While,  bleached  by  the  years  that  have  over  him  flown, 

His  silver  locks  brightly  are  gleaming : 
"  Sweet  harmony  sleeps  in  the  golden  strings. 
The  minstrel  of  true  love  reward  ever  sings, 

And  adores  what  to  virtue  has  tended  — 
What  the  bosom  may  wish,  what  the  senses  hold  dear ; 
But  say,  what  is  worthy  the  emperor's  ear 

At  this,  of  all  feasts  the  most  splendid  ? " 

"  No  restraint  would   I   place   on   the  minstrel's   own 
choice," 

Speaks  the  monarch,  a  smile  on  each  feature ; 
"  He  obeys  the  swift  hour's  imperious  voice, 

Of  a  far  greater  lord  is  the  creature. 
For,  as  through  the  air  the  storm-wind  on-speeds,  — 
One  knows  not    from  whence  its    wild    roaring  pro- 
ceeds, — 

As  the  spring  from  hid  sources  up-leaping, 
So  the  lay  of  the  bard  from  the  inner  heart  breaks  — 
While  the  might  of  sensations  unknown  it  awakes, 

That  within  us  were  wondrously  sleeping." 

Then  the  bard  swept  the  cords  with  a  finger  of  might, 

Evoking  their  magical  sighing : 
"  To  the  chase  once  rode  forth  a  valorous  knight, 

In  pursuit  of  the  antelope  flying. 
His  hunting-spear  bearing,  there  came  in  his  train 
His  squire  ;  and  when  o'er  a  wide-spreading  plain 

On  his  stately  steed  he  was  riding. 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  83 

He  heard  in  the  distance  a  bell  tinkling  clear, 
And    a   priest,  with  the  Host,  he  saw  soon    drawing 
near. 
While  before  him  the  sexton  was  striding. 

"  And  low  to  the  earth  the  Count  then  inclined. 

Bared  his  head  in  humble  submission, 
To  honour,  with  trusting  and  Christian-like  mind. 

What  had  saved  the  whole  world  from  perdition. 
But  a  brook  o'er  the  plain  was  pursuing  its  course, 
That,  swelled  by  the  mountain  stream's  headlong  force, 

Barred  the  wanderer's  steps  with  its  current ; 
So  the  priest  on  one  side  the  blest  sacrament  put, 
And  his  sandal  with  nimbleness  drew  from  his  foot, 

That  he  safely  might  pass  through  the  torrent. 

"  *  What    wouldst    thou  ? '     the    Count   to   him    thus 
began. 

His  wondering  look  toward  him  turning : 
'  My  jouruey  is,  lord,  to  a  dying  man, 

Who  for  heavenly  diet  is  yearning  ; 
But  when  to  the  bridge  o'er  the  brook  I  came  nigh, 
In  the  whirl  of  the  stream,  as  it  madly  rushed  by, 

With  furious  might  'twas  uprooted. 
And  so,  that  the  sick  the  salvation  may  find 
That  he  pants  for,  I  hasten  with  resolute  mind 

To  wade  through  the  waters  barefooted.' 


"O' 


"  Then  the  Count    made    him    mount  on   his  stately 
steed. 

And  the  reins  to  his  hands  he  confided, 
That  he  duly  might  comfort  the  sick  in  his  need. 

And  that  each  holy  rite  be  provided. 
And  himself,  on  the  back  of  the  steed  of  his  squire. 
Went  after  the  chase  to  his  heart's  full  desire, 

While  the  priest  on  his  journey  was  speeding : 


84  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

And  the  following  morning,  with  thankful  look, 
To  the  Count  once  again  his  charger  he  took, 
Its  bridle  with  modesty  leading. 

" '  God  forbid  that  in  chase  or  in  battle,'  then  cried 

The  Count  with  humility  lowly, 
*  The  steed  I  henceforward  should  dare  to  bestride 

That  had  borne  my  Creator  so  holy ! 
And  if,  as  a  guerdon,  he  may  not  be  thine. 
He  devoted  shall  be  to  the  service  divine. 

Proclaiming  His  iufiuite  merit. 
From  whom  I  each  honour  and  earthly  good 
Have  received  in  fee,  and  my  body  and  blood, 

And  my  breath,  and  my  life,  and  my  spirit.' 

" '  Then  may  God,  the  sure  rock,  whom  no  time  can 
e'er  move. 

And  who  lists  to  the  weak's  supplication, 
For  the  honour  thou  pay'st  Him,  permit  thee  to  prove 

Honour  /terc  and  hereafter  salvation  ! 
Thou'rt  a  powerful  Count,  and  thy  knightly  command 
Hath  blazoned  thy  fame  through  the  Switzer's  broad 
land  ; 

Thou  art  blest  with  six  daughters  admired  ; 
May  they  each  in  thy  house  introduce  a  bright  crown. 
Filling  ages  unborn  with  their  glorious  renown  '  — 

Thus  exclaimed  he  in  accents  inspired." 

And  the  emperor  sat  there  ail-thoughtfully, 

While  the  dream  of  the  past  stood  before  him ; 
And  when  on  the  minstrel  he  turned  his  eye, 

His  words'  hidden  meaning  .stole  o'er  him ; 
For  seeing  the  traits  of  the  priest  there  revealed; 
In  the  folds  of  his  purple-dyed  robe  he  concealed 

His  tears  as  they  swiftly  coursed  down. 
And  all  on  the  emperor  wonderingly  gazed, 
And  the  blest  dispensations  of  Providence  praised, 

For  the  Count  and  the  Caesar  were  one. 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  85 


THE    IDEAL    AND    THE    ACTUAL    LIFE. 

For  ever  fair,  for  ever  calm  aud  bright, 
Life  flies  on  plumage,  zephyr-light. 

For  those  who  ou  the  Olympian  hill  rejoice  — 
Moons  wane,  and  races  wither  to  the  tomb, 
Aud,  'mid  the  universal  ruin,  bloom 

The  rosy  days  of  gods  — 

Witli  man,  the  choice, 
Timid  and  anxious,  hesitates  between 

The  sense's  pleasure  and  the  soul's  content ; 
While  on  celestial  brows,  aloft  and  sheen, 

The  beams  of  both  are  blent. 


Seekest  thou  on  earth  the  life  of  gods  to  share, 
Safe  in  the  realm  of  death  ?  —  beware 

To  pluck  the  fruits  that  ghtter  to  thine  eye ; 
Content  thyself  with  gazing  on  their  glow  — 
Short  are  the  joys  possession  can  bestow. 

And  in  possession  sweet  desire  will  die. 
'Twas  not  the  ninefold  cham  of  waves  that  bound 

Thy  daughter,  Ceres,  to  the  Stygian  river  — 
She  plucked  the  fruit  of  the  unholy  ground, 

And  so  —  was  hell's  for  ever ! 
The  weavers  of  the  web  —  the  fates  —  but  sv/ay 
The  matter  and  the  things  of  clay  ; 

Safe  from  change  that  time  to  matter  gives, 
Nature's  blest  playmate,  free  at  will  to  stray 
With  gods  a  god,  amidst  the  fields  of  day, 

The  form,  the  archetype}  serenely  lives. 
Would'st  thou  soar  heavenward  ou  its  joyous  wing  ? 

Cast  from  thee,  earth,  the  bitter  and  the  real. 
High  from  this  cramped  and  dungeon  being,  spring 

Into  the  realm  of  the  ideal ! 

1  "Die  Gestalt  "  — form,  the  Platonic  archetype. 


86  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

Here,  bathed,  perfection,  in  thy  purest  ray, 
Free  from  the  clogs  and  taints  of  clay. 

Hovers  divine  the  archetypal  man  ! 
Dim  as  those  phantom  ghosts  of  life  that  gleam 
And  wander  voiceless  by  the  Stygian  stream, — 

Fair  as  it  stands  in  fields  Elysian, 
Ere  down  to  flesh  the  immortal  doth  descend  :  — 

If  doubtful  ever  in  the  actual  life 
Each  contest  —  here  a  victory  crowns  the  end 

Of  every  nobler  strife. 

Not  from  the  strife  itself  to  set  thee  free. 
But  more  to  nerve  —  doth  victory 

Wave  her  rich  garland  from  the  ideal  clime. 
Whate'er  thy  wish,  the  earth  has  no  repose  — 
Life  still  must  drag  thee  onward  as  it  flows, 

Whirling  thee  down  the  dancing  surge  of  time. 
But  when  the  courage  sinks  beneath  the  dull 

Sense  of  its  narrow  limits  —  on  the  soul. 
Bright  from  the  hill-tops  of  the  beautiful. 

Bursts  the  attained  goal ! 

If  worth  thy  while  the  glory  and  the  strife 
Which  fire  the  lists  of  actual  life  — 

The  ardent  rush  to  fortune  or  to  fame. 
In  the  hot  field  where  strength  and  valour  are. 
And  rolls  the  whirling  thunder  of  the  car, 

And  the  world,  breathless,  eyes  the  glorious  game  — 
Then  dare  and  strive  —  the  prize  can  but  belong 

To  him  whose  valour  o'er  his  tribe  prevails  ; 
In  life  the  victory  only  crowns  the  strong  — 

He  who  is  feeble  fails. 

But  life,  whose  source,  by  crags  around  it  piled. 
Chafed  while  confined,  foams  fierce  and  wild. 

Glides  soft  and  smooth  when  once  its  streams  expand, 
When  its  waves,  glassing  in  their  silver  play. 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  87 

Aurora  blent  with  Hesper's  milder  ray, 

Gain  the  still  beautiful  —  that  shadow-land  ! 

Here,  contest  grows  but  interchange  of  love, 
All  curb  is  but  the  bondage  of  the  grace ; 

Gone  is  each  foe,  —  peace  folds  her  wings  above 
Her  native  dwelling-place. 

When,  through  dead  stone  to  breathe  a  soul  of  light, 
With  the  dull  matter  to  unite 

The  kindling  genius,  some  great  sculptor  glows ; 
Behold  him  straining,  every  nerve  intent  — 
Behold  how,  o'er  the  subject  element. 

The  stately  thought  its  march  laborious  goes ! 
For  never,  save  to  toil  untiring,  spoke 

The  unwilling  truth  from  her  mysterious  well  — 
The  statue  only  to  the  chisel's  stroke 

Wakes  from  its  marble  cell. 

But  onward  to  the  sphere  of  beauty  —  go 
Onward,  0  child  of  art !  and,  lo ! 

Out  of  the  matter  which  thy  pains  control 
The  statue  springs  !  —  not  as  with  labour  wrung 
From  the  hard  block,  but  as  from  nothing  sprung  — 

Airy  and  light  —  the  offspring  of  the  soul! 
The  pangs,  tbe  cares,  the  weary  toils  it  cost 

Leave  not  a  trace  wben  once  the  work  is  done  — 
The  artist's  human  frailty  merged  and  lost 

In  art's  great  victory  won  !  ^ 

If  human  sin  confronts  the  rigid  law 
Of  perfect  truth  and  virtue,^  awe 

iMore  literally  translated  thus  by  the  author  of  the  article  ou 
Schiller  in  the  Foreign  and  Colonial  Review,  July,  1843  — 

"Theuce  all  witnesses  for  ever  banished 
Of  poor  human  nakedness." 

2  The  law,  i.  e.,  the  Kantian  ideal  of  truth  and  virtue.  This 
stanza  and  the  next  embody,  perhaps  with  some  exaggeration,  the 
Kautian  doctrine  of  morality. 


88  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

Seizes  and  saddens  thee  to  see  how  far 
Beyond  thy  reach,  perfection  ;  —  if  we  test 
By  the  ideal  of  the  good,  the  best, 

How  mean  our  efforts  and  our  actions  are ! 
This  space  between  the  ideal  of  man's  soul 

And  man's  achievement,  who  hath  ever  past  ? 
An  ocean  spreads  between  us  and  that  goal. 

Where  anchor  ne'er  was  cast ! 

But  fly  the  boundary  of  the  senses  —  live 
The  ideal  life  free  thouglit  can  give ; 

And,  lo,  the  gulf  shall  vanish,  and  the  chill 
Of  the  soul's  impotent  despair  be  gone ! 
And  with  divinity  thou  shares t  the  throne, 

Let  but  divinity  become  thy  will  I 
Scoru  not  the  law  —  permit  its  iron  band 

The  sense  (it  cannot  chain  the  soul)  to  thrall. 
Let  man  no  more  the  will  of  Jove  withstand,^ 

And  Jove  the  bolt  lets  fall ! 

If,  in  the  woes  of  actual  human  life  — 
If  tliou  could'st  see  the  serpent  strife 

Which  the  Greek  art  has  made  divine  in  stone 

Could'st  see  the  writhing  limbs,  the  livid  cheek, 
Note  every  pang,  and  hearken  every  shriek. 

Of  some  despairing  lost  Laocoon, 
The  human  nature  would  thyself  subdue 

To  share  the  human  woe  before  thine  eye  -— 
Thy  cheek  would  pale,  and  all  thy  soul  be  true 

To  man's  great  sympathy. 

But  in  the  ideal  realm,  aloof  and  far, 
Where  the  calm  art's  pure  dwellers  are, 

Lo,  the  Laocoon  writhes,  but  does  not  groan. 

1  "  But  in  Gocr.s  sight  submission  is  command."  "  ,(onah  "  by 
the  Rev.  F.  Hodgson.  Quoted  in  Foreign  aud  Colonial  Beview, 
July,  1843  :  Art.  Schiller,  p.  2L 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  89 

Here,  no  sharp  grief  the  high  emotion  knows  — 
Here,  suffering's  self  is  made  divine,  and  shows 

The  brave  resolve  of  the  firm  soul  alone : 
Here,  lovely  as  the  rainbow  on  the  dew 

Of  the  spent  thunder-cloud,  to  art  is  given, 
Gleaming  through  grief's  dark  veil,  the  peaceful  blue 

Of  the  sweet  moral  heaven. 

So,  in  the  glorious  parable,  behold 
How,  bowed  to  mortal  bonds,  of  old 

Life's  dreary  path  divine  Alcides  trod : 
The  hydra  and  the  lion  were  his  prey, 
And  to  restore  the  friend  he  loved  to-day, 

He  went  undaunted  to  the  black-browed  god ; 
And  all  the  torments  and  the  labours  sore 

Wroth  Juno  sent  —  the  meek  majestic  one, 
With  patient  spirit  and  unquailing,  bore. 

Until  the  course  was  run  — 

Until  the  god  cast  down  his  garb  of  clay. 
And  rent  in  hallowing  flame  away 

The  mortal  part  from  the  divine  —  to  soar 
To  the  empyreal  air !     Behold  him  spring 
Blithe  in  the  pride  of  the  unwonted  wing, 

And  the  dull  matter  that  confined  before 
Sinks  downward,  downward,  downward  as  a  dream ! 

Olympian  hymns  receive  the  escaping  soul, 
And  smiling  Hebe,  from  the  ambrosial  stream, 

Fills  for  a  god  the  bowl ! 


t3"^ 


PAEABLES   AND   EIDDLES. 

T. 

There  stands  a  dwelling,  vast  and  tall. 

On  unseen  columns  fair ; 
No  wanderer  treads  or  leaves  its  hall. 

And  none  can  linger  there. 


90  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

Its  wondrous  structure  first  was  planned 
With  art  no  mortal  knows ; 

It  lights  the  lamps  with  its  own  hand 
'Mongst  which  it  brightly  glows. 

It  has  a  roof,  as  crystal  bright, 
Formed  of  one  gem  of  dazzling  light ; 
Yet  mortal  eye  has  ne'er 
Seen  him  who  placed  it  there. 

IL 

Among  all  serpents  there  is  one, 

Born  of  no  earthly  breed ; 
In  fury  wild  it  stands  alone, 

And  in  its  matchless  speed. 

With  fearful  voice  and  headlong  force 

It  rushes  on  its  prey, 
And  sweeps  the  rider  and  his  horse 

In  one  fell  swoop  away. 

The  highest  point  it  loves  to  gain ; 

And  neither  bar  nor  lock 
Its  fiery  onslaught  can  restrain  ; 

And  arms  —  invite  its  shock. 

It  tears  in  twain,  like  tender  grass. 

The  strongest  forest-trees ; 
It  grinds  to  dust  the  hardened  brass, 

Though  stout  and  firm  it  be. 


*o' 


And  yet  this  beast,  that  none  can  tame, 
Its  threat  ne'er  twice  fulfils; 

It  dies  in  its  self-kindled  flame, 
And  dies  e'en  when  it  kills. 


POEMS  OF   SCHILLER  91 

III. 

A  bird  it  is,  whose  rapid  motion 

With  eagle's  flight  divides  the  air; 
A  tish  it  is,  aud  parts  the  ocean, 

That  bore  a  greater  monster  ne'er ; 
An  elephant  it  is,  whose  rider 

On  his  broad  back  a  tower  has  put ; 
'Tis  like  the  reptile  base,  the  spider, 

Whenever  it  extends  it  foot ; 
And  when,  with  iron  tooth  projecting. 

It  seeks  its  own  hfe-blood  to  drain. 
On  footing  firm,  itself  erecting, 

It  braves  the  raging  hurricane. 


THE   LAY    OF   THE   BELL. 

"Vivos  voco  —  Mortuos  plango  —  Fulgura  frango."  ^ 

Fast,  in  its  prison-walls  of  earth, 

Awaits  the  mould  of  baked  clay. 
Up,  comrades,  up,  and  aid  the  birth  — 
The  bell  that  shall  be  born  to-day  ! 
Who  would  honour  obtain. 
With  the  sweat  aud  the  pain. 
The  praise  that  man  gives  to  the  master  must  buy,  — 
But  the  blessing  withal  must  descend  from  on  high ! 

And  well  an  earnest  word  beseems 
The  work  the  earnest  hand  prepares ; 

Its  load  more  light  the  labour  deems. 
When  sweet  discourse  the  labour  shares. 

^"I  call  the  living  —  I  mourn  the  dead  —  I  break  the  light- 
ning." These  words  are  inscribed  on  the  great  bell  of  the  Mins- 
ter of  Schaffhausen  —  also  on  that  of  the  Church  of  Art  near 
Lucerne.  There  was  an  old  belief  in  Switzerland  that  the 
undulation  of  air,  caused  by  the  sound  of  a  bell,  broke  the  electric 
fluid  of  a  thunder-cloud. 


92  POEMS  OF   SCHILLER 

So  let  us  ponder  —  nor  in  vain  — 

What  strength  can  work  when  labour  wills; 
For  who  would  not  the  fool  disdain 

Who  ne'er  designs  what  he  fulfils  ? 
And  well  it  stamps  our  human  race, 

And  hence  the  gift  to  understand, 
That  man  within  the  heart  should  trace 

Whate'er  he  fashions  with  the  hand. 

From  the  fir  the  fagot  take. 

Keep  it,  heap  it  hard  and  dry, 

That  the  gathered  flame  may  break 

Through  the  furnace,  wroth  and  high. 

When  the  copper  within 

Seethes  and  simmers  —  the  tin. 

Pour  quick,  that  the  fluid  that  feeds  the  bell 

May  flow  in  the  right  course  glib  and  well.  ■ 

Deep  hid  within  this  nether  cell, 

What  force  with  fire  is  moulding  thus, 
In  yonder  airy  tower  shall  dwell. 

And  witness  wide  and  far  of  us  ! 
It  shall,  in  later  days,  unfailing, 

Eouse  many  an  ear  to  rapt  emotion ; 
Its  solemn  voice  with  sorrow  wailing. 

Or  choral  chiming  to  devotion. 
Whatever  fate  to  man  may  bring. 

Whatever  weal  or  woe  befall, 
That  metal  tongue  shall  backward  ring, 

The  warning  moral  drawn  from  all. 


See  the  silvery  bubbles  spring ! 

Good  !  the  mass  is  melting  now  ! 
Let  the  salts  we  duly  bring 

Purge  the  flood,  and  speed  the  flow. 
From  the  dross  and  the  scum, 
Pure,  the  fusion  must  come ; 


. 


""Blushing  He  Glides  IV here' er  She  CMoves" 

Photogravure  from  the  pahiting  Ity  A.  l-iczeii-Mayer 


-*?^; 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  93 

For  perfect  and  pure  we  the  metal  must  keep, 
That  its  voice  may  be  perfect,  and  pure,  and  deep. 

That  voice,  with  merry  music  rife, 

The  cherished  child  shall  welcome  in ; 
What  time  the  rosy  dreams  of  life. 

In  the  first  slumber's  arms  begin. 
As  yet,  ill  Time's  dark  womb  unwarning, 

Eepose  the  days,  or  foul  or  fair ; 
And  watchful  o'er  that  golden  morning, 

The  mother-love's  untiring  care ; 
And  swift  the  years  hke  arrows  fly  — 
No  more  with  girls  content  to  play, 
Bounds  the  proud  boy  upon  his  way, 
Storms  through  loud  life's  tumultuous  pleasures, 
With  pilgrim  staff  the  wide  world  measures ; 
And,  wearied  with  the  wish  to  roam, 
Again  seeks,  stranger-hke,  the  father-home. 
And,  lo,  as  some  sweet  vision  breaks 

Out  from  its  native  morning  skies 
With  rosy  shame  on  downcast  cheeks, 

The  virgin  stands  before  his  eyes. 

A  nameless  longing  seizes  him ! 

From  all  his  wild  compassions  flown  ; 
Tears,  strange  till  then,  his  eyes  bedim  ; 

He  wanders  all  alone. 
Blushing,  he  glides  where'er  she  move ; 

Her  greeting  can  transport  him  ; 
To  every  mead  to  deck  his  love. 

The  happy  wild  flowers  court  him  ! 
Sweet  hope  —  and  tender  longing  —  ye 

The  growth  of  hfe's  first  age  of  gold ; 
When  the  heart,  swelling,  seems  to  see 

The  gates  of  heaven  unfold  ! 
0  love,  the  beautiful  and  brief !     0  prime. 
Glory,  and  verdure,  of  life's  summer-time ! 


94  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

Browning  o'er,  the  pipes  are  simmering, 

Dip  this  wand  of  clay  ^  within ; 
If  hke  glass  the  wand  be  glimmering, 
Then  the  casting  may  begin. 
Brisk,  brisk  now,  and  see 
If  the  fusion  flow  free  ; 
If  —  (happy  and  welcome  indeed  were  the  sign  !) 
If  the  hard  and  the  ductile  united  combine ; 
For  still  where  the  strong  is  betrothed  to  the  weak, 
And  the  stern  in   sweet  marriage  is  blent  with   the 
meek. 
Kings   the   concord  harmonious,    both    tender    and 
strong : 
So  be  it  with  thee,  if  for  ever  united. 
The  heart  to  the  heart  flows  in  one,  love-delighted ; 
Illusion  is  brief,  but  repentance  is  long. 

Lovely,  thither  are  they  bringing, 

With  the  virgin  wreath,  the  bride! 
To  the  love-feast  clearly  ringing, 

Tolls  the  church-bell  far  and  wide ! 
With  that  sweetest  holiday, 

Must  the  May  of  life  depart ; 
With  the  cestus  loosed  —  away 
Flies  illusion  from  the  heart ! 
Yet  love  lingers  lonely, 

When  passion  is  nnite, 
And  the  blossoms  may  only 

Give  way  to  the  fruit. 
The  husband  must  enter 
The  hostile  life, 
With  struggle  and  strife 
To  plant  or  to  watch. 
To  snare  or  to  snatch, 
To  pray  and  importune, 

1  A  piece  of  clay  pipe,  wliicli  becomes  vitrified  if  the  metal  is 
sufficiently  heated. 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  95 

Must  wager  and  venture 

And  hunt  down  his  fortune ! 
Then  flows  in  a  current  the  gear  and  the  gain, 
And  the  garners  are  filled  with  the  gold  of  the  grain, 
Now  a  yard  to  the  court,  now  a  wing  to  the  centre ! 
Within  sits  another, 

The  thrifty  housewife ; 
The  mild  one,  the  mother  — 

Her  home  is  her  life. 
In  its  circle  she  rules, 
And  the  daughters  she  schools 
And  she  cautions  the  boys. 
With  a  bustling  command, 
And  a  diligent  hand 

Employed  she  employs ; 
Gives  order  to  store. 
And  the  much  makes  the  more ; 
Locks    the    chest    and    the    wardrobe    with    lavender 

smelling, 
And  the  hum  of  the  spindle  goes  quick  through  the 

dwelhng ; 
And  she  hoards  in  the  presses,  well  polished  and  full, 
The  snow  of  the  linen,  the  shine  of  the  wool ; 
Blends  the  sweet  with  the  good,  and  from  care  and 

endeavour 
Rests  never ! 

Bhthe  the  master  (where  the  while 
From  his  roof  he  sees  them  smile) 

Eyes  the  lauds,  and  counts  the  gain ; 
There,  the  beams  projecting  far, 
And  the  laden  storehouse  are, 
And  the  granaries  bowed  beneath 

The  blessed  golden  grain  ; 
There,  in  undulating  motion. 
Wave  the  corn-fields  like  an  ocean. 
Proud  the  boast  the  proud  lips  breathe :  — 
"  My  house  is  built  upon  a  rock, 


96  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

And  sees  unmoved  the  stormy  shock 

Of  waves  that  fret  below  ! " 
What  chain  so  strong,  what  girth  so  great, 
To  bind  the  giant  form  of  fate  ?  — 

Swift  are  the  steps  of  woe. 

Now  the  casting  may  begin  ; 

See  the  breach  indented  there  : 
Ere  we  run  the  fusion  in, 

Halt  —  and  speed  the  pious  prayer ! 
Pull  the  bung  out  — 
See  around  and  about 
What    vapour,    what    vapour  —  God    help    us  !  —  has 

risen  ?  — 
Ha !    the   tlame   like   a  torrent   leaps    forth    from    its 

prison  ! 
What  friend  is  like  the  might  of  fire 
When  man  can  watch  and  wield  the  ire  ? 
Whate'er  we  shape  or  work,  we  owe 
Still  to  that  heaven-descended  glow. 
But  dread  the  heaven-descended  glow. 
When  from  their  chain  its  wild  wings  go, 
When,  where  it  listeth,  wide  and  wild 
Sweeps  free  Nature's  free-born  child. 
When  the  frantic  one  fleets, 

While  no  force  can  withstand, 
Through  the  populous  streets 

Whirling  ghastly  the  brand  ; 
For  the  element  hates 
What  man's  labour  creates, 
And  the  work  of  his  hand ! 
Impartially  out  from  the  cloud, 

Or  the  curse  or  the  blessing  may  fall ! 
Benignantly  out  from  the  cloud 

Come  the  dews,  the  revivers  of  all ! 
Avengingly  out  from  the  cloud 

Come  the  levin,  the  bolt,  and  the  ball ! 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  97 

Hark  —  a  wail  from  the  steeple  !  —  aloud 
The  bell  shrills  its  voice  to  the  crowd! 
Look  —  look  —  red  as  blood 

All  on  high  ! 
It  is  not  the  daylight  that  fills  with  its  flood 

The  sky ! 
What  a  clamour  awaking 

Roars  up  through  the  street, 
What  a  hell-vapour  breaking 

Eolls  on  through  the  street, 
And  higher  and  higher 
Aloft  moves  the  column  of  fire ! 
Through  the  vistas  and  rows 
Like  a  whirlwind  it  goes, 

And  the  air  Kke  the  stream  from  the  furnace  glows. 
Beams  are  crackling  —  posts  are  shrinking  — 
Walls  are  sinking  —  windows  chnking  — 

Children  crying  — 

Mothers  flying  — 
And    the    beast    (the    black    ruin    yet    smouldering 

under) 
Yells  the  howl  of  its  pain  and  its  ghastly  wonder ! 
Hurry  and  skurry  —  away  —  away, 
The  face  of  the  night  is  as  clear  as  day ! 

As  the  links  in  a  chain, 

Again  and  again 
Flies  the  bucket  from  hand  to  hand ; 

High  in  arches  up-rushing 

The  engines  are  gushing, 
And  the  flood,  as  a  beast  on  the  prey  that  it  hounds, 
With  a  roar  on  the  breast  of  the  element  bounds 

To  the  grain  and  the  fruits, 

Through  the  rafters  and  beams, 
Through  the  barns  and  garners  it  crackles  and  streams  ! 
As  if  they  would  rend  up  the  earth  from  its  roots. 
Rush  the  flames  to  the  sky 
Giant-high ; 


98  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

And  at  length, 

Wearied    out    and    despairing,    man    bows    to  their 

strength  ! 
With  an  idle  gaze  sees  their  wrath  consume, 
And  submits  to  his  doom  ! 

Desolate 
The  place,  and  dread 
For  storms  the  barren  bed. 

In  the  blauk  voids  that  cheerful  casements  were, 
Comes  to  and  fro  the  melancholy  air, 

And  sits  despair ; 
And  through  the  ruin,  blackening  in  its  shroud, 
Peers,  as  it  flits,  the  melancholy  cloud. 

One  human  glance  of  grief  upon  the  grave 
Of  all  that  fortune  gave 

The  loiterer  takes  —  then  turns  him  to  depart, 
And  grasps  the  wanderer's  staff  and  mans  his  heart ; 
Whatever  else  the  element  bereaves, 
One  blessing  more  than  all  it  reft  —  it  leaves, 
The  faces  that  he,  loves  !  —  He  counts  them  o'er. 
See  —  not  one  look  is  missing  from  that  store  ! 

Now  clasped  the  bell  within  the  clay  — 
The  mould  the  mingled  metals  fill  — 
Oh,  may  it,  sparkling  into  day, 
Reward  the  labour  and  the  skill ! 
Alas  !  should  it  fail, 
For  the  mould  may  be  frail  — 
And  still  with  our  hope  must  be  mmgled  the  fear  — 
And,  ev'n  now,  while  we  speak,  the  mishap  may  be 

near  ! 
To  the  dark  womb  of  sacred  earth 

This  labour  of  our  hands  is  given, 
As  seeds  that  wait  the  second  birth, 

And  turn  to  blessings  watched  by  heaven ! 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  99 

Ah,  seeds,  how  dearer  far  than  they. 

We  bury  in  the  dismal  tomb, 
Where  hope  and  sorrow  bend  to  pray 
That  suns  beyond  the  realm  of  day 

May  warm  them  into  bloom  ! 

From  the  steeple 
Tolls  the  bell, 

Deep  and  heavy, 
The  death-knell ! 
Guiding  with  dirge-note  —  solemn,  sad,  and  slow. 
To  the  last  home  earth's  weary  wanderers  know. 

It  is  that  worshipped  wife  — 

It  is  that  faithful  mother  !  ^ 
Wliora  the  dark  prince  of  shadows  leads  benighted, 
From  that  dear  arm  where  oft  she  clung  delighted  ; 
Far  from  those  blithe  companions,  born 
Of  her,  and  blooming  in  their  morn ; 
On  whom,  when  couched  her  heart  above, 
So  often  looked  the  mother-love ! 

Ah  !  rent  the  sweet  home's  union-band, 

And  never,  never  more  to  come  — 
She  dwells  within  the  shadowy  land, 

Who  was  the  mother  of  that  home  ! 
How  oft  they  miss  that  tender  guide. 

The  care  —  the  watch  —  the  face  —  the  mother  — 
And  where  she  sate  the  babes  beside. 

Sits  with  unloving  looks  —  another  ! 

Wliile  the  mass  is  cooling  now, 
Let  the  labour  yield  to  leisure, 

As  the  bird  upon  the  bough, 

Loose  the  travail  to  the  pleasure. 

^The  translator  adheres  to  the  original,  in  forsaking  the  rhyme 
in  these  lines  and  some  others. 


loo  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

When  the  soft  stars  awaken, 

Each  task  be  forsaken  ! 
And  the  vesper-bell  lulling  the  earth  into  peace, 
If  the  master  still  toil,  chimes  the  workman's  release ! 

Homeward  from  the  tasks  of  day, 
Through  the  greenwood's  welcome  way, 
Wends  the  wanderer,  blithe  and  cheerly, 
To  the  cottage  loved  so  dearly  ! 
And  the  eye  and  ear  are  meeting, 
Now,  the  slow  sheep  homeward  bleating  — 
Now,  the  wonted  shelter  near, 
Lowing  the  lusty-fronted  steer ; 
Creaking  now  the  heavy  wain, 
Eeels  with  the  happy  harvest  grain. 
While  with  many-coloured  leaves. 
Glitters  the  garland  on  the  sheaves ; 
For  the  mower's  work  is  done. 
And  the  young  folks'  dance  begun  ! 
Desert  street,  and  quiet  mart  ;  — 
Silence  is  in  the  city's  heart ; 
And  the  social  taper  lighteth 
Each  dear  face  that  home  uniteth ; 
While  the  gate  the  town  before 
Heavily  swings  with  sullen  roar ! 

Though  darkness  is  spreading 

O'er  earth  —  the  upright 
And  the  honest,  undreading, 

Look  safe  on  the  night  — 
Which  the  evil  man  watches  in  awe, 
For  the  eye  of  the  night  is  the  law ! 

Bliss-dowered !  0  daughter  of  the  skies. 
Hail,  holy  order,  whose  employ 
Blends  like  to  like  in  light  and  joy  — 
Builder  of  cities,  who  of  old 
Called  the  wild  man  from  waste  and  wold. 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  loi 

And,  in  his  hut  thy  presence  steahng, 
Roused  each  famihar  household  feeling ; 

And,  best  of  all  the  happy  ties, 
The  centre  of  the  social  band,  — 
The  instinct  of  the  Fatherland  ! 

United  thus  —  each  helping  each. 

Brisk  work  the  countless  hands  for  ever ; 
For  nought  its  power  to  strength  can  teach. 

Like  emulation  and  endeavour  ! 
Thus  linked  the  master  with  the  man. 

Each  in  Ms  rights  can  each  revere. 
And  while  they  march  in  freedom's  van. 

Scorn  the  lewd  rout  that  dogs  the  rear ! 
To  freeman  labour  is  renown  ! 

Who  works  —  gives  blessings  and  commands  ; 
Kings  glory  in  the  orb  and  crown  — 

Be  ours  the  glory  of  our  hands. 

Long  in  these  walls  —  long  may  we  greet 
Your  footfalls,  peace  and  concord  sweet ! 
Distant  the  day,  oh  !  distant  far. 
When  the  rude  hordes  of  trampling  war 

Shall  scare  the  silent  vale  ; 
And  where. 

Now  the  sweet  heaven,  when  day  doth  leave 
The  air, 

Linms  its  soft  rose-hues  on  the  veil  of  eve ; 
Shall  the  fierce  war-brand  tossing  in  the  gale, 
From  town  and  hamlet  shake  the  horrent  glare ! 


to^ 


Now,  its  destined  task  fulfilled. 

Asunder  break  the  prison-mould  ; 
Let  the  goodly  bell  we  build. 
Eye  and  heart  alike  behold. 
The  hammer  down  heave, 
Till  the  cover  it  cleave  :  — 


I02  POEMS  OF   SCHlLLliR 

For  not  till  we  shatter  the  wall  of  its  cell 

Can  we  Uft  from  its  darkness  and  bondage  the  bell. 

To  break  the  mould,  the  master  may, 

If  skilled  the  hand  and  ripe  the  hour; 
But  woe,  when  on  its  tiery  way 

The  metal  seeks  itself  to  pour. 
Frantic  and  blind,  with  thunder-knell, 

Exploding  from  its  shattered  home. 
And  glaring  forth,  as  from  a  hell, 

Behold  tlie  red  destruction  come  ! 
Wlien  rages  strength  that  has  no  reason. 
There  breaks  the  mould  before  the  season ; 
When  numbers  burst  what  bound  before, 
Woe  to  the  state  that  thrives  no  more  ! 
Yea,  woe,  when  in  the  city's  heart. 

The  latent  spark  to  flame  is  blown ; 
And  millions  from  their  silence  start. 

To  claim  without  a  guide  their  own! 


Discordant  howls  the  warning  bell. 

Proclaiming  discord  wide  and  far. 
And,  born  but  things  of  peace  to  tell. 

Becomes  the  ghastliest  voice  of  war  : 
"  Freedom  !     Equality  ! "  —  to  blood 

Eush  the  roused  people  at  the  sound ! 
Through  street,  hall,  palace,  roars  the  flood, 

And  banded  murder  closes  round! 
The  hyena-shapes  (that  women  were  !), 

Jest  with  the  horrors  they  .survey  ; 
They  hound  —  they  rend  —  they  mangle  there  • 

As  panthers  with  their  prey ! 
Nought  rests  to  hollow  —  burst  the  ties 

Of  life's  sublime  and  reverent  awe ; 
Before  the  vice  the  virtue  flies. 

And  universal  crime  is  law  ! 


" zAnd  Concordia  We  Will  Name  Her''' 

Photogravure  from  the  painting  by  A.  Liezen-Mayer 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  103 

Man  fears  the  lion's  kingly  tread ; 

Man  fears  the  tiger's  fangs  of  terror ; 
And  still  the  dreadliest  of  the  dread, 

Is  man  himself  in  error ! 
No  torch,  though  lit  from  heaven,  illumes 

The  blind  !  —  Why  place  it  in  his  hand  ? 
It  lights  not  him  —  it  but  consumes 
•   The  city  and  the  land  ! 
Eejoice  and  laud  the  prospering  skies ! 
The  kernel  bursts  its  husk  —  behold 
From  the  dull  clay  the  metal  rise. 
Pure-shining  as  a  star  of  gold  ! 

Neck  and  lip,  but  as  one  beam. 
It  laughs  like  a  sunbeam. 
And  even  the  scutcheon,  clear-graven,  shall  tell 
That  the  art  of  a  master  has  fashioned  the  bell ! 

Come  in  —  come  in. 

My  merry  men  —  we'll  form  a  ring 

The  new-born  labour  christening ; 

And  "  Concord  "  we  will  name  her !  — 
To  union  may  her  heartfelt  call 

In  brother-love  attune  us  all ! 
May  she  the  destined  glory  win 

For  which  the  master  sought  to  frame  her  — 
Aloft  —  (all  earth's  existence  under), 

In  blue-pavilioned  heaven  afar 
To  dwell  —  the  neighbour  of  the  thunder. 

The  borderer  of  the  star  ! 
Be  hers  above  a  voice  to  rise 

Like  those  bright  hosts  in  yonder  sphere, 
Who,  while  they  move,  their  Maker  praise, 

And  lead  around  the  wreathed  year  ! 
To  solemn  and  eternal  things 

We  dedicate  her  lips  sublime  !  — 
As  hourly,  calmly,  on  she  swings  — 

Fanned  by  the  fleeting  wings  of  time !  — 


I04  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

No  pulse  —  no  heart  —  uo  feeling  hers  ! 

She  lends  the  warning  voice  to  fate ; 
And  still  companions,  while  she  stirs, 

The  changes  of  the  human  state  ! 
So  may  she  teach  us  as  her  tone. 

But  now  so  mighty,  melts  away  — 
That  earth  no  life  which  earth  has  known 

From  the  last  silence  can  delay  ! 

Slowly  now  the  cords  upheave  her ! 

From  her  earth-grave  soars  the  bell ; 
Mid  the  airs  of  heaven  we  leave  her ! 
In  the  music-realm  to  dwell  ! 
Up  —  upwards  yet  raise  — 
She  has  risen  —  she  sways. 
Fair  bell  to  our  city  bode  joy  and  increase, 
And  oh,  may  thy  first  sound  be  hallowed  to  peace !  ^ 


HONOUR    TO   WOMAN. 

[Literally  "  Dignity  of  Women."] 

Honour  to  woman  !     To  her  it  is  given 

To  garden  the  earth  with  the  roses  of  heaven ! 

All  blessed,  she  linketh  the  loves  in  their  choir 
In  the  veil  of  the  graces  her  beauty  conceahng. 
She  tends  on  each  altar  that's  hallowed  to  feeling 

And  keeps  ever-living  the  fire  ! 


G' 


From  the  bounds  of  truth  careering, 
Man's  strong  spirit  wildly  sweeps, 

With  each  hasty  impulse  veering 
Down  to  passion's  troubled  deeps. 

And  his  heart,  contented  never, 
Greeds  to  grapple  with  the  far, 

1  Written  in  the  time  of  the  French  war. 


POEMS  OF   SCHILLER  105 

Chasing  his  own  dream  for  ever, 

On  through  many  a  distant  star  ! 
But  woman,  with  looks  that  can  charm  and  enchain, 
Lureth  hack  at  her  heck  the  wikl  truant  again, 

By  the  spell  of  her  presence  beguiled  — 
In  the  home  of  the  mother  her  modest  abode. 
And  modest  the  manners  by  Nature  bestowed 

Ou  Nature's  most  exquisite  child  ! 

Bruised  and  worn,  but  fiercely  breasting, 

Foe  to  foe,  the  angry  strife  ; 
Man,  the  wild  one,  never  resting, 

"Roams  along  the  troubled  life ; 
What  he  planneth,  still  pursuing; 

Vainly  as  the  Hydra  bleeds, 
Crest  the  severed  crest  renewing  — 

Wish  to  withered  wish  succeeds. 

But  woman,  at  peace  with  all  being,  reposes, 
And  seeks  from  the  moment  to  gather  the  roses 

Whose  sweets  to  her  culture  belong. 
Ah  !  richer  than  he,  though  his  soul  reigueth  o'er 
The  mighty  dominion  of  genius  and  lore, 

And  the  infinite  circle  of  song. 


^O" 


Strong,  and  proud,  and  self-depending, 

Man's  cold  bosom  beats  alone ; 
Heart  with  heart  divinely  blending, 

In  the  love  that  gods  have  known. 
Soul's  sweet  interchange  of  feeling, 

Melting  tears  —  he  never  knows. 
Each  hard  sense  the  hard  one  steeling, 

Arms  against  a  world  of  foes. 


"O^ 


Alive,  as  the  wind-harp,  how  lightly  soever 
If  wooed  by  the  zephyr,  to  music  will  quiver, 
Is  woman  to  hope  and  to  fear ; 


Io6  POEMS   OF   SCH1LLI:R 

Ah,  tender  one  !  still  at  the  shadow  of  grieving, 
How  quiver  the  chords  —  huw  thy  bosom  is  heaving 
How  trembles  the  glance  through  the  tear ! 

Man's  dominion,  war  and  labour  ; 

Might  to  riglit  the  statue  gave ; 
Laws  are  in  the  Scythian's  sabre  ; 

Where  the  Mede  reigned  —  see  the  slave  ! 
Peace  and  meekness  grimly  routing, 

Prowls  the  war-lust,  rude  and  wild ; 
Eris  rages,  hoarsely  shouting. 

Where  the  vanished  graces  smiled. 


But  woman,  the  soft  one,  persuasively  prayeth  — 
Of  the  life  ^  that  she  charmeth,  the  sceptre  she  sway- 
eth  ; 

She  lulls,  as  she  looks  from  above. 
The  discord  whose  hell  for  its  victims  is  gaping, 
And  blending  awhile  the  for  ever  escaping, 

Whispers  hate  to  the  image  of  love  ! 


THE   GERMAN   ART. 

By  no  kind  Augustus  reared, 
To  no  Medici  endeared, 

German  art  arose ; 
Fostering  glory  smiled  not  on  her, 
Ne'er  with  kingly  smiles  to  sun  her, 

Did  her  blooms  unclose. 

No,  —  she  went  by  monarchs  slighted. 
Went  unhonoured,  unrequited. 
From  high  Frederick's  throne  ; 

1  Literally  "the  manners."     The  French  word  moeurs  corre- 
sponds best  with  the  German. 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  107 

Praise  and  pride  be  all  the  greater, 
That  man's  genius  did  create  her, 
From  man's  worth  alone. 

Therefore,  all  from  loftier  mountains, 
Purer  wells  and  richer  fountains, 

Streams  our  poet-art ; 
So  no  rule  to  curb  its  rushing  — 
All  the  fuller  flows  it  gushing 

From  its  deep  —  the  heart ! 


THE  ANTIQUES  AT   PAPJS. 

That  which  Grecian  art  created. 
Let  the  Frank,  with  joy  elated, 

Bear  to  Seine's  triumphant  strand, 
And  in  his  museums  glorious 
Show  the  trophies  all-victorious 

To  his  wondering  fatherland. 

They  to  him  are  silent  ever, 
Into  life's  fresh  circle  never 

From  their  pedestals  come  down. 
He  alone  e'er  holds  the  Muses 
Through  whose  breast  their  power  diffuses,  ■ 

To  the  Vandal  they're  but  stone ! 


THEKLA. 

A    SPIRIT    VOICE. 

Whither  was  it  that  my  spirit  wended, 

When  from  thee  my  fleeting  shadow  moved  ? 

Is  not  now  each  earthly  conflict  ended  ? 
Say,  —  have  I  not  lived,  have  I  not  loved  ? 


loS  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

Art  thou  for  the  nightiugales  inquiring 
Who  entranced  thee  in  the  early  year 

With  their  melody  so  joy-inspiring  ? 

Only  whilst  they  loved  they  lingered  here. 

Is  the  lost  one  lost  to  me  for  ever? 

Trust  me,  with  him  joyfully  I  stray 
There,  where  nought  united  souls  can  sever, 

And  where  every  tear  is  wiped  away. 

And  thou,  too,  wilt  find  us  in  you  heaven, 
When  thy  love  with  our  love  can  compare  ; 

There  my  father  dwells,  his  sins  forgiven,  — - 
Murder  foul  can  never  reach  him  there. 

And  he  feels  that  him  no  vision  cheated 
When  he  gazed  upon  the  stars  on  high  ;  ^ 

For  as  each  one  metes,  to  him  'tis  meted ; 
Who  believes  it,  hath  the  Holy  nigh. 

Faith  is  kept  in  those  blest  regions  yonder 
With  the  feelings  true  that  ne'er  decay. 

Venture  thou  to  dream,  then,  and  to  wander : 
Noblest  thoughts  oft  lie  in  childlike  play. 


THE   MAID  OF  ORLEANS. 

Humanity's  bright  image  to  impair, 

Scorn  laid  thee  prostrate  in  the  deepest  dust ; 

Wit  wages  ceaseless  war  on  all  that's  fair,  — 
In  angel  and  in  God  it  puts  no  trust ; 

The  bosom's  treasures  it  would  make  its  prey,  — 

Besieges  fancy,  —  dims  e'en  faith's  pure  ray. 

See  "Piccolomini,"  act  ii.  sc.  6  ;  and  "  The  Death  of  Wallen- 
stein,"  act  v.  sc.  3. 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  109 

Yet  issuing  like  thyself  from  humble  Hue, 
Like  thee  a  gentle  shepherdess  is  she  — 

Sweet  poesy  affords  her  rights  divine, 
And  to  the  stars  eternal  soars  with  thee. 

Around  thy  brow  a  glory  she  hath  thrown ; 

The  heart  'twas  formed  thee, —  ever  thou'lt  live  on  ! 

The  world  dehghts  whate'er  is  bright  to  stain, 
And  in  the  dust  to  lay  the  glorious  low ; 

Yet  fear  not !  noble  bosoms  still  remain, 
That  for  the  lofty,  for  the  radiant  glow  ; 

Let  Momus  serve  to  fill  the  booth  with  mirth, 

A  nobler  mind  loves  forms  of  nobler  worth. 


THE  PROVERBS  OF  CONFUCIUS. 

L 

Threefold  is  the  march  of  time : 
While  the  future  slow  advances, 
Like  a  dart  the  present  glances, 

Silent  stands  the  past  sublime. 

No  impatience  e'er  can  speed  him 

On  his  course  if  he  delay  ; 
No  alarm,  no  doubts  impede  him 

If  he  keep  his  onward  way ; 
No  regrets,  no  magic  numbers 
Wake  the  tranced  one  from  his  slumbers. 
Wouldst  thou  wisely  and  with  pleasure, 
Pass  the  days  of  life's  short  measure, 
From  the  slow  one  counsel  take, 
But  a  tool  of  him  ne'er  make ; 
Ne'er  as  friend  the  swift  one  know, 
Nor  the  constant  one  as  foe ! 


no  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

II. 

Threefold  is  the  form  of  space  : 
Length,  with  ever  restless  motion, 
Seeks  eternity's  wide  ocean  ; 
Breadth  with  boundless  sway  extends  ; 
Depth  to  unknown  realms  descends. 

All  as  types  to  thee  are  given  ; 
Thou  must  onward  strive  for  heaven, 
Never  still  or  weary  be 
Wouldst  thou  perfect  glory  see ; 
Far  must  thy  researches  go 
Wouldst  thou  learn  the  world  to  know ; 
Thou  must  tempt  the  dark  abyss 
Wouldst  thou  prove  what  Being  is. 

Nought  but  firmness  gains  the  prize,  — 
Nought  but  fulness  makes  us  wise,  — 
Buried  deep,  truth  ever  hes  ■ 


BREADTH  AND  DEPTH. 

Full  many  a  shining  wit  one  sees. 

With  tongue  on  all  things  well  conversing ; 

The  what  can  charm,  the  what  can  please. 
In  every  nice  detail  rehearsing. 

Their  raptures  so  transport  the  college, 

It  seems  one  honeymoon  of  knowledge. 

Yet  out  they  go  in  silence  where 

They  whilom  held  their  learned  prate ; 

Ah !  he  who  would  achieve  the  fair, 
Or  sow  the  embryo  of  the  great, 

Must  hoard  —  to  wait  the  ripening  hour  — 

In  the  least  point  the  loftiest  power. 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  iii 

With  wanton  boughs  and  pranksome  hues, 

Aloft  in  air  aspires  the  stem ; 
The  ghttering  leaves  inhale  the  dews, 

But  fruits  are  not  concealed  in  them. 
From  the  small  kernel's  undiscerned  repose 
The  oak  that  lords  it  o'er  the  forest  grows. 

VOTIVE   TABLETS. 

DIFFERENT    DESTINIES. 

Millions  busily  toil,  that  the  human  race  may  con- 
tinue ; 
But  by  only  a  few  is  propagated  our  kind. 
Thousands  of  seeds  by  the  autumn  are  scattered,  yet 
fruit  is  engendered 
Only  by  few,  for  the  most  back  to  the  element  go. 
But  if  one  only  can  blossom,  that  one  is  able  to  scatter 
Even   a   bright    living  world,  filled  with   creations 
eterne. 

THE    PRESENT    GENERATION. 

Was  it  always  as  now  ?    This  race  I  truly  can't  fathom. 
Nothing   is  young  but    old  age  ;  youth,  alas !  only 
is  old. 

TO    THE    MUSE. 

What  I  had  been  without  thee,  I  know  not  —  yet,  to 
my  sorrow 
See  I  what,  without  thee,  hundreds  and  thousands 
now  are. 

THE   DUTY    OF    ALL. 

Ever  strive  for  the  whole  ;  and  if  no  whole  thou  canst 
make  thee, 
Join,  then,  thyself  to  some  whole,  as  a  subservient 
limb! 


112  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

A   PKOBLEM. 

Let    none  resemble  auother;   let    each   resemble   the 
highest ! 
How  can  that  happen  ?  let  each  be  all  complete  in 
itself. 

TO    MYSTICS. 

That  is  the  only  true  secret,  which  in  the  presence  of 
all  men 
Lies,  and  surrounds  thee  for  aye,  but  which  is  wit- 
nessed by  none. 

THE    KEY. 

WouLDST  thou  know  thyself,  observe  the  actions  of 

others. 
Wouldst  thou  other  men  know,  look  thou  within  thine 

own  heart. 

POLITICAL     PEECEPT. 

All  that  thou  doest  is  right ;  but,  friend,  don't  carry 
this  precept 
On  too  far,  —  be  content,  all  that  is  right  to  effect. 
It  is  enough  to  true  zeal,  if  what  is  existing  be  perfect ; 
False  zeal  always  would  find  finished  perfection  at 
once. 

THE    BEST    STATE. 

"  How  can  I  know  the  best  state  ? "     In  the  way  that 

thou  know'st  the  best  woman ; 
Namely,  my  friend,  that  the  world  ever  is  silent  of 

both. 

MY    FAITH. 

Which  religion  do  I  acknowledge  ?     None  that  thou 

namest. 
"  None  that    I    name  ?     And   why   so  ? "  —  Why,   for 

rehgion's  own  sake. 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  113 

GENIUS. 

Understanding,    indeed,    can    repeat    what    already 

existed,  — 

That  which  Nature  has  built,  after  her  she,  too,  can 

build. 

Over  Nature  can  reason  build,  but  in  vacancy  only ; 

But  thou,  Genius,  alone,  nature  iii  nature  canst  form. 


THE    INQUIRERS. 

Men  now  seek  to  explore  each  thing  from  within  and 
without  too ! 
How  canst  thou  make  thy  escape,  Truth,  from  their 
eager  pursuit  ? 
That  they  may  catch  thee,  with  nets  and  poles  ex- 
tended they  seek  thee ; 
But  with  a  spirit-like  tread,  glidest  thou  out  of  the 
throng. 

TO    THE    poet. 

Let  thy  speech  be  to  thee  what  the  body  is  to  the 
loving ; 
Beings  it  only  can  part,  —  beings  it  only  can  join. 


LANGUAGE. 


Why   can    the    living    spirit   be   never   seen    by   the 
spirit  ? 
Soon  as  the  soul  'gins  to  speak,  then  can  the  soul 
speak  no  more ! 


THE    MASTER. 


Other  masters  one  always  can  tell  by  the  words  that 
they  utter ; 
That  which  he  wisely  omits  shows  me  the  master 
of  style. 


114  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

THE    FAVOUR    OF   THE    MUSES. 

Fame  with  the  vulgar  expires ;   but,  Muse  immortal, 
thou  bearest 
Those    whom    thou    lovest,    who    love    thee,    into 
Mnemosyne's  arms. 


homer's    head    as    a    SEAL. 

Trusty  old  Homer  !   to  thee  I  confide  the  secret  so 
tender ; 
For  the  raptures  of  love  none  but  the  bard  should 
e'er  know. 


GOODNESS   AND    GREATNESS. 

Only  two  virtues  exist.     Oh,  would   they  were  ever 
united ! 
Ever  the  good  with  the  great,  ever  the  great  with 
the  good  ! 


THE   IMPULSES. 

Fear  with  his  iron  staff  may  urge  the  slave  onward 
for  ever ; 
Eapture,  do  thou  lead  me  on  ever  in  roseate  chains ! 


GERMAN    GENIUS. 

Strive,  0  German,  for  Roman-like  strength  and  for 
Grecian-like  beauty  ! 
Thou  art  successful  in  both ;  ne'er  has  the  Gaul  had 
success. 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  115 

THEOPHANIA. 

When  the  happy   appear,  I   forget  the  gods  in  the 
heaveus ; 
But  before  me  they  stand,  when  I  the  suffering  see. 

TEIFLES. 

THE    EPIC    HEXAMETEK. 

Giddily  onward  it  bears  thee  with  resistless  impetuous 

billows ; 
Nought   but  the  ocean  and   air  seest  thou  before  or 

behind. 

THE    DISTICH. 

In  the  hexameter  rises  the  fountain's  watery  column, 
In  the  pentameter  sweet  falhng  in  melody  down. 

THE   OBELISK. 

On  a  pedestal  lofty  the  sculptor  in  triumph  has  raised 

me. 
"  Stand  thou,"  spake  he,  —  and  I  stand  proudly  and 
joyfully  here. 

THE    GATE. 

Let   the    gate    open    stand,    to   allure    the    savage  to 
precepts ; 
Let  it  the  citizen  lead  into  free  nature  with  joy. 

THE  MORAL   POET. 

Man  is  in  truth  a  poor  creature,  —  I  know  it,  —  and 
fain  would  forget  it ; 
Therefore  ( how  sorry  I  am ! )  came    I,    alas,   unto 
thee  ! 


ii6  POEMS  OF   SCHILLER 


THE   PHILOSOPHERS. 


PUPIL. 


I  AM  rejoiced,  worthy  sirs,  to   find  you  in  pleno  as- 
sembled ; 
For    I    have    come    down    below,    seeking   the   one 
needful  thing. 


PUPIL. 


So  much  the  better!     So  give  me  (I  will  not  depart 
hence  without  it) 
Some  good  principle  now^  —  one  that  will  always 
avail ! 


SEVENTH    PHILOSOPHER. 


There  is  conception  at  least !     A  thing  conceived  there 
is,  therefore ; 
And  a  conceiver  as  well,  —  which,  with  conception, 
make  three. 


PUPIL. 

All  this  nonsense,  good  sirs,  won't  answer  my  purpose 
a  tittle  : 
I  a  real  principle  need,  —  one  by  which  something 
is  fixed. 

EIGHTH    PHILOSOPHER. 

Nothing    is    now    to    be    found    in    the    theoretical 
province ; 
Practical  principles  hold,  such  as;    thou  canst,  for 
thou  shouldst. 

DAVID    HUME. 

Don't  converse  with   those  fellows  !     That  Kant  has 
turned  them  all  crazy  ; 
Speak  to  me,  for  in  hell  I  am  the  same  that  I  was. 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  117 


THE    HOMERIDES. 

Who  is  the  bard  of  the  Iliad  among  you  ?     For  since 
he  Hkes  puddings, 
Heyne  begs  he'll  accept  these  that  from  Gottingen 
come. 
"  Give  them  to  mc  !      The  kings'  quarrel  I  sang  ! "  — 
"  I,  the  fight  near  the  vessels ! "  — 
"  Hand   me  the  puddings !     I  sang   what  upon  Ida 
took  place !  " 
Gently !      Don't    tear  me    to    pieces !     The    puddings 
will  not  be  sufficient ; 
He  by  whom  they  are  sent  destined  them  only  for 
one. 

THE   SUBLIME    SUBJECT. 

'Tis  thy  Muse's  dehght  to  sing  God's  pity  to  mortals : 
But,    that    they    pitiful     are  —  is   it    a   matter    for 
song  ? 

THE   ARTIFICE. 


WouLDST  thou  give   pleasure  at  once  to  the  children 
of  ea 
raw    t 
well! 


of  earth  and  the  righteous  ? 
Draw    the    image    of    lust  —  adding   the  devil    as 


IMMORTALITY. 

Dreadest  thou  the  aspect  of  death  !     Thou   wishest 
to  live  on  for  ever  ? 
Live  in  the  whole,  and  when  long  thou  shalt  have 
gone  'twill  remain ! 


Ii8  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 


JEREMIADS. 

All,  both  in  prose  and  iu  verse,  in   Germany  fast   is 
decaying ; 
Far  behind  us,  alas,  lieth  the  golden  age  now ! 
For    by    philosophers   spoiled    is  our    language  —  our 
logic  by  poets. 
And  no  more  common  sense    governs  our   passage 
through  life. 
From  the  iesthetic,  to  which  she  belongs,  now  virtue 
is  driven. 
And  into  pohtics  forced,  where  she's  a  troublesome 
guest. 
Where  are  we   hastening  now  ?     If  natural,  dull  we 
are  voted, 
And  if  we  put  on  constraint,  then  the  world  calls 
us  absurd. 
Oh,  thou  joyous  artlessness  'mongst  the  poor  maidens 
of  Leipzig, 
Witty    simplicity    come,  —  come,  then,  to  glad   us 
again ! 
Comedy,  oh,  repeat  thy  weekly  visits  so  precious, 

Sigismund,  lover  so  sweet,  —  Mascarill,  valet  jocose  ! 
Tragedy,  full  of  salt  and  pungency  epigrammatic,  — 

And  thou,  minuet-step  of  our  old  buskin  preserved ! 
Philosophic    romance,  thou    mannikin    waiting    with 
patience. 
When,    'gainst    the    pruner's    attack.    Nature    de- 
fendeth  herself ! 
Ancient  prose,  oh  return,  —  so  nobly  and  boldly  ex- 
pressing 
All    that    thou    thinkest  and    hast  thought,  —  and 
what  the  reader  thinks  too ! 
All,  both  in   prose  and  in  verse,  in  Germany  fast  is 
decaying  ; 
Far  behind  us,  alas,  lieth  the  golden  age  now ! 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  119 


THE  KIVERS. 


RHINE    AND    MOSELLE. 


Many  a  year  have  I  clasped  in  my  arms  the  Lorrain- 
ian  maiden  ; 
But  our  union  as  yet  ne'er  has  been  blest  with  a  son. 


MAIN. 


Ay,  it  is  true  that  my  castles  are  crumbling  ;  yet,  to 
my  comfort, 
Have  I  for  centuries   past  seen    my  old  race  still 
endure. 


SAALE. 


Short  is    my    course,  during    which    I    salute    many 
princes  and  nations  ; 
Yet   the  princes    are  good  —  ay !  and    the   nations 
are  free. 


ILM. 


Poor  are  my  banks,  it  is  true ;  but  yet  my  soft-flowing 
waters 
Many    immortal    lays    hear,  borne    by  the  current 


along. 


MINERAL     WATERS     AT 


Singular  country !    what  excellent  taste  in  its  foun- 
tains and  rivers ' 
In  its  people  alone  none  have  I  ever  yet  found  ! 


THE  RIVERS. 


We    would   gladly    remain   in    the    lands    that    own 

as  their  masters ; 

Soft  their  yoke  ever  is,  and  all  their  burdens  are 
light. 


I20  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 


PEGASUS   IN    HAENESS 

Once  to  a  horse-fair,  —  it  may  perhaps  have  been 
Where  other  things  are  bought  and  sold,  —  I  mean 
At  the  Haymarket,  —  there  the  muses'  horse 
A  hungry  poet  brought  —  to  sell,  of  course. 

The  hippogriff  neighed  shrilly,  loudly, 
And  reared  upon  his  hind  legs  proudly  ; 
In  utter  wonderment  each  stood  and  cried : 

"  The  noble  regal  beast !     But,  woe  betide ! 
Two  hideous  wings  his  slender  form  deface, 
The  finest  team  he  else  would  not  disgrace."  — 
"  The  breed,"  said  they,  "  is  doubtless  rare. 
But  who  would  travel  through  the  air  ? "  — 
Not  one  of  them  would  risk  his  gold. 
At  length  a  farmer  grew  more  bold : 
"  As  for  his  wings,  I  of  no  use  should  find  them. 
But  then  how  easy  'tis  to  chp  or  bind  them  1 
The  horse  for  drawing  may  be  useful  found, — 
So,  friend,  I  don't  mind  giving  twenty  pound ! " 
The  other,  glad  to  sell  his  merchandise, 
Cried,  "  Done  !  "  —  and  Hans  rode  off  upon  his  prize. 

The  noble  creature  was,  ere  long,  put-to. 

But  scarcely  felt  the  unaccustomed  load, 
Than,  panting  to  soar  upwards,  off  he  flew, 
And,  filled  with  honest  anger,  overthrew 

The  cart  where  an  abyss  just  met  the  road. 
"  Ho !  ho ! "  thought    Hans  ;    "  no    cart    to    this    mad 

beast 
I'll  trust.     Experience  makes  one  wise  at  least. 
To  drive  the  coach  to-morrow  now  my  course  is, 

And  he  as  leader  in  the  team  shall  go. 
The  hvely  fellow'll  save  me  full  two  horses; 

As  years  pass  on,  he'll  doubtless  tamer  grow." 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  121 

All  went  on  well  at  first.     The  nimble  steed 

His    partners     roused,  —  like     lightning     was     their 

speed. 
What   happened   next  ?     Toward  heaven   was  turned 

his  eye,  — 
Unused  across  the  solid  ground  to  fly, 
He  quitted  soon  the  safe  and  beaten  course, 
And  true  to  nature's  strong  resistless  force, 
Ean-  over    bog    and    moor,    o'er   hedge    and    pasture 

tilled ; 
An  equal  madness  soon  the  other  horses  filled  — 
No  reins  could  hold  them  in,  no  help  was  near. 
Till,  —  only  picture  the  poor  travellers'  fear  !  — 
The  coach,  well  shaken,  and  completely  wrecked, 
Upon  a  hill's  steep  top  at  length  was  checked. 

"  If  this  is  always  sure  to  be  the  case," 

Hans  cried,  and  cut  a  very  sorry  face, 

"  He'll  never  do  to  draw  a  coach  or  wagon ; 

Let's  see  if  we  can't  tame  the  fiery  dragon 

By  means  of  heavy  work  and  httle  food." 

And  so  the  plan  was  tried.  —  But  what  ensued  ? 

The  handsome  beast,  before  three  days  had  passed. 

Wasted  to  nothing.     "  Stay  !  I  see  at  last !  " 

Cried    Hans.     "  Be    quick,    you    fellows !    yoke    him 

now 
With  my  most  sturdy  ox  before  the  plough." 

No  sooner  said  than  done.     In  union  queer 
Together  yoked  were  soon  winged  horse  and  steer. 
The  griffin  pranced  with  rage,  and  his  remaining  might 
Exerted  to  resume  his  old-accustomed  flight. 
'Twas  all  in  vain  —  his  partner  stepped  with   circum- 
spection, 
And    Phoebus'  haughty   steed   must  follow   Ids  direc- 
tion ; 


122  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

Until  at  last,  by  long  resistance  spent, 

When  strength  his  limbs  no  longer  was  controlling, 
The  noble  creature,  with  affliction  bent. 

Fell  to  the  ground,  and  in  the  dust  lay  rolling. 
"  Accursed  beast !  "  at  length  with  fury  mad 

Hans  shouted,  while  he  soundly  phed  the  lash,  — 
"  Even  for  ploughing,  then,  thou  art  too  bad  !  — 

That  fellow  was  a  rogue  to  sell  such  trash  ! " 

Ere  yet  his  heavy  blows  had  ceased  to  fly, 
A  brisk  and  merry  youth  by  chance  came  by. 
A  lute  was  tinkling  in  his  hand, 

And  through  his  light  and  flowing  hair 
Was  twined  with  grace  a  golden  band. 

"Whither,  my  friend,  with  that  strange  pair?" 
From  far  he  to  the  peasant  cried. 
"  A  bird  and  ox  to  one  rope  tied  — 
Was  such  a  team  e'er  heard  of,  pray  ? 
Thy  horse's  worth  I'd  fain  essay ; 
Just  for  one  moment  lend  him  me,  — 
Observe,  and  thou  shalt  wonders  see ! " 

The  hippogriff  was  loosened  from  the  plough, 

Upon  his  back  the  smiling  youth  leaped  now ; 

No  sooner  did  the  creature  understand 

That  he  was  guided  by  a  master-hand, 

Than  'ginst  his  bit  he  champed,  and  upward  soared 

While  lightning  from  his  flaming  eyes  outpoured. 

No  longer  the  same  being,  royally 

A  spirit,  ay,  a  god,  ascended  he  ; 

Spread  in  a  moment  to  the  stormy  wind 

His  noble  wings,  and  left  the  earth  behind, 

And,  ere  the  eye  could  follow  him, 

Had  vanished  in  the  heavens  dim. 


POEMS  OF   SCHILLER  123 


TO    GOETHE. 

ON     HIS     PRODUCING    VOLTAIRE'S    "  MAHOMET  "    ON     THE 

STAGE. 

Thou,    by    whom,    freed   from  rules  constrained    and 
wrong, 

On  truth  and  nature  once  again  we're  placed,  — 
Wlio,  in  the  cradle  e'en  a  hero  strong, 

Stiflest  the  serpents  round  our  genius  laced,  — 
Thou  whom  the  godhke  science  has  so  long 

With  her  unsullied  sacred  fillet  graced,  — 
Dost  thou  on  ruined  altars  sacrifice 
To  that  false  muse  whom  we  no  longer  prize  ? 

This  theatre  belongs  to  native  art. 

No  foreign  idols  worshipped  here  are  seen ; 

A  laurel  we  can  show,  with  joyous  heart, 

That  on  the  German  Pindus  has  grown  green : 

The  sciences'  most  holy,  hidden  part 
The  German  genius  dares  to  enter  e'en, 

And,  following  the  Briton  and  the  Greek, 

A  nobler  glory  now  attempts  to  seek. 

For  yonder,  where  slaves  kneel,  and  despots  hold 
The  reins,  —  where  spurious  greatness  lifts  its  head, 

Art  has  no  power  the  noble  there  to  mould, 
'Tis  by  no  Louis  that  its  seed  is  spread  ; 

From  its  own  fulness  it  must  needs  unfold. 
By  earthly  majesty  'tis  nevei  fed ; 

Tis  with  truth  only  it  can  e'er  unite, 

Its  glow  free  spirits  only  e'er  can  light. 

'Tis  not  to  bind  us  in  a  worn-out  chain 

Thou  dost  this  play  of  olden  time  recall,  — 


124  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

'Tis  not  to  seek  to  lead  us  back  again 

To  days  when  thoughtless  childhood  ruled  o'er  all. 
It  were,  in  truth,  an  idle  risk  and  vain 

Into  the  moving  wheel  of  time  to  fall ; 
The  winged  hours  for  ever  bear  it  on, 
The  new  arrives,  and,  lo  !  the  old  has  gone. 

The  narrow  theatre  is  now  more  wide, 

Into  its  space  a  universe  now  steals; 
In  pompous  words  no  longer  is  our  pride, 

Nature  we  love  when  she  her  form  reveals ; 
Fashion's  false  rules  no  more  are  deified ; 

And  as  a  man  the  hero  acts  and  feels. 
'Tis  passion  makes  the  notes  of  freedom  sound, 
And  'tis  in  truth  the  beautiful  is  found. 

Weak  is  the  frame  of  Thespis'  chariot  fair. 
Resembling  much  the  bark  of  Acheron, 

That  carries  nought  but  sliades  and  forms  of  air ; 
And  if  rude  hfe  should  venture  to  press  on, 

The  fragile  bark  its  weight  no  more  can  bear. 
For  fleeting  spirits  it  can  hold  alone. 

Appearance  ne'er  can  reach  reality,  — 

If  nature  be  victorious,  art  must  fly. 

For  on  the  stage's  boarded  scaffold  here 

A  world  ideal  opens  to  our  eyes, 
Nothing  is  true  and  genuine  save  —  a  tear ; 

Emotion  on  no  dream  of  sense  rehes. 
The  real  Melpomene  is  still  sincere. 

Nought  as  a  fable  merely  she  supplies  — 
By  truth  profound  to  charm  us  is  her  care ; 
The  false  one,  truth  pretends,  but  to  ensnare. 

Now  from  the  scene,  art  threatens  to  retire, 
Her  kingdom  wild  maintains  still  phantasy ; 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  125 

The  stage  she  like  the  world  would  set  on  fire, 
The  meanest  aud  the  noblest  mingles  she. 

The  Frank  alone  'tis  art  can  now  inspire, 
And  yet  her  archetype  can  his  ne'er  be ; 

In  bounds  unchangeable  confining  her. 

He  holds  her  fast,  and  vainly  would  she  stir. 

The  stage  to  him  is  pure  and  undefiled ; 

Chased  from  the  regions  that  to  her  belong 
Are  Nature's  tones,  so  careless  and  so  wild, 

To  him  e'en  language  rises  into  song ; 
A  realm  harmonious  'tis,  of  beauty  mild, 

Where  limb  unites  to  Hmb  in  order  strong. 
The  whole  into  a  solemn  temple  blends, 
And  'tis  the  dance  that  grace  to  motion  lends. 

And  yet  the  Frank  must  not  be  made  our  guide, 

For  in  his  art  no  living  spirit  reigns : 
The  boasting  gestures  of  a  spurious  pride 

That  mind  which  only  loves  the  true  disdains. 
To  nobler  ends  alone  be  it  applied, 

Returning,  like  some  soul's  long-vanished  manes 
To  render  the  oft-sullied  stage  once  more 
A  throne  befitting  the  great  muse  of  yore. 


VERSES  WRITTEN  IN  THE  FOLIO  ALBUM  OF 
A  LEARNED  FRIEND. 

Once  wisdom  dwelt  in  tomes  of  ponderous  size. 

While  friendship  from  a  pocketbook  would  talk ; 
But  now  that  knowledge  in  small  compass  lies, 

And  floats  in  almanacs,  as  light  as  cork, 
Courageous  man,  thou  dost  not  hesitate 
To  open  for  thy  friends  this  house  so  great ! 
Hast  thou  no  fear,  I  seriously  would  ask, 
That  thou  may'st  thus  their  patience  overtask  ? 


126  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 


THE   JOURNALISTS  AND   MINOS. 

I  CHANCED  the  other  eve,  — 

But  how  I  ne'er  will  tell, — 

The  paper  to  receive 

That's  puhhshed  down  in  hell. 


In  general  one  may  guess, 
I  little  care  to  see 

This  free-corps  of  the  press 
Got  up  so  easily  ; 


But  suddenly  my  eyes 

A  side-note  chanced  to  meet, 
And  fancy  my  surprise 

At  reading  in  the  sheet :  — 


"  For  twenty  weary  springs  " 
(The  post  from  Erebus, 
Remark  me,  always  brings 
Unpleasant  news  to  us) 


"  Through  want  of  water,  we 

Have  well-nigh  lost  our  breath ; 
In  great  perplexity 

Hell  came  and  asked  for  Death ; 


"'They  can  wade  through  the  Styx, 
Catch  crabs  in  Lethe's  flood  ; 
Old  Charon's  in  a  fix. 

His  boat  hes  in  the  mud, 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  127 

« '  The  dead  leap  over  there, 

The  youug  and  old  as  well ; 
The  boatmau  gets  no  fare, 
And  loudly  curses  hell.' 

"  King  Minos  bade  his  spies 
lu  all  directions  go  ; 
The  devils  needs  must  rise, 

And  briog  him  news  below. 

"  Hurrah  !     The  secret's  told ! 

They've  caught  the  robber's  nest ; 
A  merry  feast  let's  hold  ! 

Come,  hell,  and  join  the  rest ! 

"  An  author's  countless  band. 

Stalked  round  Cocytus'  brink, 
Each  bearing  in  his  hand 
A  glass  for  holding  ink. 


"And  into  casks  they  drew 

The  water,  strange  to  say. 
As  boys  suck  sweet  wdne  through 
An  elder-reed  in  play. 

«  Quick  !  o'er  them  cast  the  net, 
Ere  they  have  time  to  flee  ! 
Warm  welcome  ye  will  get, 
So  come  to  Sans-souci ! 


«  Smelt  by  the  king  ere  long, 

He  sharpened  up  his  tooth, 
And  thus  addressed  the  throng 
(Full  angrily,  in  truth) : 


128  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

"  '  The  robbers  is't  we  see  ? 

What  trade  ?     What  land,  perchance  ? ' 
'  German  news-writers  we  ! '  — 

Enough  to  make  us  dance  ! 

" '  A  wish  I  long  have  known 

To  bid  ye  stop  and  dine, 
Ere  ye  by  Death  were  mown, 

That-brother-in-law  of  mine. 

" '  Yet  now  by  Styx  I  swear, 

Whose  flood  ye  would  imbibe, 
That  torments  and  despair 

Shall  fill  your  vermin-tribe ! 

" '  The  pitcher  seeks  the  well, 

Till  broken  'tis  one  da  ' ; 
They  who  for  ink  would  smell, 
The  penalty  must  pay. 

" '  So  seize  them  by  their  thumbs. 

And  loosen  straight  my  beast ; 
E'en  now  he  hcks  his  gums. 

Impatient  for  the  feast.'  — 

*'  How  quivered  every  limb 

Beneath  the  bull-dog's  jaws  ! 
Their  honours  bated  him, 

And  he  allowed  no  pause, 

"  Convulsively  they  swear, 

Still  writhe  the  rabble  rout, 
Engaged  with  anxious  care 
In  pumping  Lethe  out." 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  129 

Ye  Christians,  good  and  meek, 

This  vision  bear  in  mind  : 
If  journalists  ye  seek 

Attempt  their  thumbs  to  find. 

Defects  they  often  hide, 

As  folks  whose  hairs  are  gone 
We  see  with  wigs  supplied  : 

Probatum  !     I  have  done  ! 


LAURA   AT   THE   SPINET. 

When  the  strings  thy  fingers  sweep, 
Laura,  all  my  spirits  fail, 
Marble-cold  my  forces  sleep, 
Life  and  Death  before  thee  quail. 
For  thy  sovereign  powers  impress 
Hearts  —  a  very  sorceress. 

Gentle  zephyrs  rustle  by, 
Hanging  on  thy  melody, 
And,  enraptured  by  the  strain. 
Dancing  round  and  round  remain. 
Nature's  self  is  calm  and  still. 
Drinking  in  thy  every  thrill : 
Victim  to  thy  music  she, 
'Tis  thy  glance  that  conquers  me. 

Heaven-born  harmonies  arise 

In  voluptuous  accord, 

Sweet,  as  though  from  azure  skies, 

New-born  Seraphim  upsoared. 

As,  bursting  from  Creation's  womb. 

And  quitting  Chaos'  dreary  zones. 

The  Sun  dispersed  primeval  gloom 

So  streams  the  magic  of  thy  tones. 


I30  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

Gentle  now,  as  down  their  course 

Silver  twinkling  ripples  leap, 

Gathering  now  majestic  force 

Like  an  organ  grave  and  deep ; 

Bursting  anon  in  storm,  as  from  the  rock 

Descends  the  cataract  with  foaming  shock ; 

Then  they  murmur  once  again 

In  coquetting  notes  of  love, 

As  the  wanton  airs  complain 

To  the  quivering  aspen  grove. 

And  now  in  slow  and  melancholy  wail, 
As  flutter  ghosts  upon  the  midnight  gale, 
The  damned  proclaim  their  lamentable  fears, 
And  dark  Cocytus  passes,  big  with  tears. 
Ah  !  maiden,  dost  thou  in  communion  dwell 
With  heavenly  spirits  ?     I  adjure  thee,  tell ! 
And  is  their  language  (answer,  I  beseech. 
And  hide  it  not)  the  true  Elysian  speech  ? 


TO    LAURA. 

MELANCHOLY. 

Laura,  morning's  waking  rays 
In  thy  golden  glances  flame, 
O'er  thy  cheek  the  crimson  strays, 
And  thy  pearl-like  tears  proclaim 
Ecstasy  thy  mother's  name. 
Happy  he  who  can  assign 
To  those  tears  a  source  divine, 
For  to  him  new  suns  arise, 
Shining  from  unclouded  skies. 

And  thy  soul  —  a  vision  clear, 
Like  a  silver,  sunlit  mere, 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  131 

Autumn's  dreary  tints  of  gray 
Can  transform  to  smiling  May, 
Deserts  to  a  radiant  sphere. 
O'er  the  future's  dread  unseen 
Spreadest  thou  a  golden  sheen  ; 
Thou  smilest  at  Nature's  harmony 
And  grace ;  but  I  can  only  sigh. 

Powers  of  darkness  ever  creep 
Underneath  this  earth  of  ours  ; 
Castles  frowning  on  the  steep, 
Cities  with  their  stately  towers. 
All  on  mouldering  bones  are  piled. 
Thy  carnations  owe  their  bloom 
To  corruption,  and  defiled, 
Fountains  issue  from  the  tomb. 

As  the  planets  upward  sail. 
Let  them,  Laura,  tell  their  tale ! 
Under  their  commanding  zone 
Thousand  thousand  springs  have  flown, 
Countless  thrones  have  been  upraised, 
Countless  battle-fields  have  blazed. 
Wouldest  thou  the  story  trace  ? 
Seek  it  in  some  iron-bound  place ; 
Sooner  or  later,  when  the  end  is  nigh, 
Away  the  planet's  chariot  wheels  will  fly. 

'Tis  but  a  twinkle  —  and  the  Sun 
In  the  sea  of  Death  goes  down ! 
Prithee,  whence  thy  glances  ?     Say, 
Boastest  thou  that  brilliant  eye, 
Or  thy  cheek's  empurpled  dye. 
Borrowed  all  from  mouldering  clay  ? 
Maid,  expensive  was  the  loan  ; 
To  Death  thou  must  restore  his  own. 
And  heavy  interest  pay. 


132  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

Speak  not  of  Death  in  careless  tone ! 
The  rosier  thy  cheeks  appear, 
The  more  exalted  is  his  throne. 
Beneath  that  skin  so  fresh  and  fair 
The  foeman  marks  thee  for  his  own. 
Laura,  —  my  words  no  fancy  deem,  — 
Death  ward  alone  thine  eye  is  bent ; 
With  every  glance  is  nearer  spent 
Thy  life-lamp's  little  gleam. 
"  But  my  pulses  strong  and  blithe 
Bound  along,"  I  hear  thee  say. 
Ah  !     But  the  tyrant's  creatures  writhe 
Insidiously  towards  decay. 

Death  thy  smiles  away  shall  sweep. 
As  the  tempest  o'er  the  deep 
Drives  the  many-coloured  foam. 
Vain  it  is  to  seek  their  trace 
Limned  in  Nature's  smiling  face, 
In  life  itself,  as  though  his  home. 
The  dread  Destroyer  takes  his  place. 

Alas  !  thy  roses  wind-shorn  lie, 
Thy  lovely  mouth  is  hushed  and  pale. 
The  levelling  storm,  the  winter's  gale 
Thy  cheeks'  entrancing  beauty  try. 
The  misty  light  of  drooping  years 
The  silver  stream  of  youth  will  dull ; 
In  Laura's  love  will  come  a  lull, 
As  her  attraction  disappears. 

Maiden,  thy  Poet,  sturdy  as  an  oak, 
Stands;  on  his  hardy  youth  descends  in  vain 
The  piercing  shaft,  the  death-compelling  stroke ; 
My  glances  —  blazing  as  the  lamps  which  reign 
In  heaven's  self  —  my  soul  more  ruddy  bright 
Than  even  heaven's  everlasting  fires, 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  133 

Such  sea-swept  heavens  as  alternate  smite 
In  fury,  then  up-build  the  craggy  spires. 
Through  boundless  space  my  thoughts  unfettered 

move, 
And  nothing  fear  but  their  own  narrow  gi'oove. 

With  pride,  my  Laura,  does  thy  bosom  swell  ? 

Know  then,  fair  maid,  the  waters  of  this  well. 

This  cup  from  which  the  Godhead  seems  to  speak, 

With  poison  reek ! 

Ah  !  thrice  unhappy  who  essay 

To  strike  the  spark  divine  from  clay. 

Before  the  bold  harmonious  note 

The  trembling  harp-strings  leap  and  burst, 

And  Genius'  rays  in  space  which  float 

On  life's  poor  flame  alone  are  nursed. 

Subservient  guardians  before  him  prone 

Lie,  and  detach  him  from  his  living  throne  ! 

Alas !  my  spirits,  stirred  to  impious  fire. 

In  league  are  bound,  and  'gainst  myself  conspire. 

Let  two  brief  springs,  my  Laura,  pass  — 

But  two  —  and  then  this  house  of  clay 

Will  fall,  a  tottering  ruined  mass. 

Extinguishing  my  feeble  ray. 

Dost  weep,  my  Laura  ?  —  Dry  those  tears, 
Which  but  lament  my  tale  of  years ! 
Nay,  dry  those  tears  for  very  shame  ! 
Would  Laura  see  my  forces  fail. 
Would  she  behold  me  shrink  and  quail, 
Who  knew  me  in  my  youthful  fame  ? 
She  hear  my  frozen  spirit  chide 
The  fervour  of  my  early  pride. 
And  mark  my  ageing  conscience  pour 
Rebuke  on  favourite  sins  of  yore  ? 
Nay,  dry  those  tears  for  very  shame ' 


134  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

Yes  !     Cull  the  flower  in  its  bloom, 
And  thou,  good  youth,  enwrapped  in  gloom, 
My  life's  torch  quench  in  tears. 
As  falls  the  curtain  on  the  tragic  stage 
And,  rustling  down,  conceals  the  fairest  page, 
The  shadows  fly  :  —  the  crowd  still  sits  and  hears. 


THE   GREATNESS    OF    THE   WORLD. 

TVliD  the  burst  of  Creation  from  Chaos  unfurled. 

On  the  wings  of  the  wind  I  soar  over  the  world ; 

On  the  uttermost  strand 

Of  its  ocean  I  land ; 

And  anchor  where  never  a  zephyr  is  known. 

And  Creation  has  planted  its  boundary  stone, 

I  saw  the  young  stars  from  their  cradle  arise, 
And  start  on  their  infinite  course  through  the  skies ; 
I  watched  them  at  play 
To  their  goal  as  they  sway ; 

—  It  was  but  a  moment,  and  looking  again, 
I  gazed  upon  void  —  not  a  star  in  the  Main ! 

To  the  regions  of  space  I  courageously  steer, 

Outspeeding  the  light  in  mine  airy  career ; 

The  heavens  are  dim 

'Neath  the  mists  as  they  skim ; 

Whole  systems  of  planets,  whole  oceans  in  flood 

Hound  the  track  of  the  sun-hunting  wanderer  scud. 

Lo !     A  pilgrim  I  meet  on  my  desolate  way. 

—  "  Hold,  there,  brother  Palmer,  thy  purpose  display  !  " 
*'  To  the  world's  very  end 

My  direction  I  bend. 

To  the  harbour  where  never  a  zephyr  is  known, 

And  Creation  has  planted  its  boundary  stone." 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  135 

"  Thou  courtest  the  Infinite,  sailest  in  vain  !  " 

"  Good  pilgrim,  thou  sail'st  on  a  similar  plane ! 

—  Thy  wings  thou  must  fold, 

Be  they  never  so  bold ! 

However  adventurous  Phantasy's  ship, 

The  anchor  of  Phantasy  never  can  grip." 


ELEGY  ON  THE  DEATH  OF  A  YOUTH.i 

Such  dismal  moaning  as  a  storm  precedes 
With  smothered  echoes  fills  the  house  of  woe, 
The  death-chime  from  the  Minster  tower  pleads ! 
A  youth  is  carried  forth  with  footsteps  slow. 
A  stripling  —  not  yet  ripened  for  the  tomb, 
Plucked  prematurely  in  his  early  days, 
His  pulses  strong,  his  cheeks  in  ruddy  bloom, 
The  fire  yet  flashing  from  his  eager  gaze. 
A  son  —  his  mother's  darling  (you  may  tell 
From  that  long,  lamentable  cry  of  pain) 
My  bosom  friend  —  alas  !  my  brother  too  — 
An  ye  be  men,  follow  the  mournful  train ! 

Boast  ye,  ye  lofty,  hoary-headed  pines 

Who  shrink  not  from  the  storm,  nor  thunders  fear  ? 

Ye  mountain  tops  on  which  the  heavens  recline  ? 

Ye  heavens,  that  whole  suns  march  in  your  sphere  ? 

Dost  boast,  thou  graybeard,  that  this  honoured  name 

On  great  achievement's  swelling  wave  relies  ? 

And  does  the  hero  boast  his  ancient  fame, 

Safe  in  his  glorious  temple  in  the  skies  ? 

Let  once  the  canker  worm  the  bud  assail. 

And  who  but  fools  will  battle  with  decay  ? 

Above  or  here  below  what  can  avail 

When  Death  in  such  a  striphng  finds  a  prey  ? 

^The  youth's  name  was  Johanu  Christian  Wecliherlin. 


136  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

His  early  years  slid  by  with  flying  feet, 
Each  day  a  rosy-coloured  garment  wore, 
And  —  ah  !  to  him  the  world  was  very  sweet, 
The  future  promised  an  enchanting  store. 
He  saw  a  life  of  Paradise  unfold. 
And  all  things  glitter  in  eternal  gold. 
Yet  even  as  the  mother's  tear-drop  fell, 
The  realms  of  Death  before  him  opened  wide  ; 
The  fatal  threads  were  severed,  and  the  spell 
Swept  heaven  and  earth  relentlessly  aside. 
Thoughts  of  the  grave  in  vain  he  would  defy  - 
Ah !  sweet  the  world  to  those  about  to  die ! 


Deaf  is  that  narrow  house,  and  silence  reigns. 
Its  tenant's  slumbers  are  prolonged  and  deep ; 
No  scope  for  thine  exalted  hope  remains, 
Beloved  brother,  in  this  endless  sleep. 
Oft  in  the  sunshine  basks  thy  favourite  hill. 
But  what  to  thee  are  those  inspiring  rays  ? 
Though  to  the  breeze  the  flowers  curtsey  still, 
Their  rustle  nothing  to  thine  ear  conveys. 
Thy  glance  will  sparkle  never  more  with  love, 
In  thine  embrace  no  bride  will  ever  sigh. 
And  though  our  tears  a  very  torrent  prove, 
Thine  eyes  must  close  for  ever  —  thou  must  die. 

Yet  not  amiss  !  —  Well  earned  is  thy  repose; 
At  peace  thou  art  within  thy  straight  domain ; 
Thy  pleasures  perish,  but  no  less  thy  woes. 
And  thou  hast  respite  from  this  world  of  pain. 
Over  thee  now  calumnious  tongues  may  wag. 
Temptation  issue  from  its  poisoned  well, 
The  sleek-faced  Pharisee  may  smirk  and  brag, 
And  hypocrites  consign  thy  soul  to  hell. 
Swindlers  through  apostolic  masks  may  leer, 
And  stern  uprightness'  bastard  daughter  play, 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  137 

Throwing  the  dice  of  chance,  with  mortals  here, 
And  on  for  ever  to  the  Judgment  day. 

And  may  Dame  Fortune  on  thy  steps  attend, 
As  on  her  favourites  she  loves  to  fawn ; 
One  moment  men  a  tottering  throne  ascend, 
Anon  behold  them  through  a  quagmire  drawn. 
Eest  thou  at  peace  within  thy  narrow  grave ! 
This  tragi-comical  extravagance. 
This  hazard  borne  on  a  tempestuous  wave, 
This  stupid  lottery  —  this  game  of  chance, 
This  idle  throng  which  does  but  seem  to  toil. 
The  weary  tasks  which  counterfeits  repose, 
Brother !  —  From  all  this  hellish  Heaven  recoil. 
On  sights  like  these  thine  eyes  for  ever  close. 

Farewell,  thou  trusty  confidant,  farewell, 
Our  loving  blessings  gently  round  thee  soar  ! 
Slumber  in  peace  in  thy  sepulchral  cell. 
Slumber  in  peace  until  we  meet  once  more ! 
Till  o'er  these  hills  swelling  with  human  clay 
The  trumpet  of  th'  Omnipotent  shall  sound. 
And,  Death's  benumbing  fetters  swept  away, 
Before  God's  blast  the  startled  corpses  bound ; 
Until,  impregnated  with  God's  own  Ijreath, 
The  graves  bring  forth  :  and  at  the  blare  of  doom, 
Amid  the  smoke  of  bursting  planets.  Death 
The  very  dead  surrenders  from  the  tomb. 

Though  not  in  worlds  imagined  by  the  wise, 

Nor  yet  in  heavens,  as  the  bards  pretend. 

Nor  in  some  artificial  Paradise  — 

Yet  we  shall  overtake  thee  in  the  end. 

Can  it  be  true  that,  as  the  Pilgrim  said. 

Beyond  the  tomb  there  still  is  room  for  thought  ? 

That  virtue  o'er  the  grave  a  bridge  can  spread  ? 

Or  are  these  fancies  which  must  count  for  nought  ? 


138  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

To  thee  these  mysteries  are  now  laid  bare, 
Aud  Truth  refreshes  thiue  euraptured  soul, 
The  very  Truth,  illumined  by  the  glare 
Which  flashes  from  th'  Almighty  Father's  bowL 

Advance,  thou  grim  aud  silent  bearer  train, 
E'en  he  nmst  garnish  the  Avenger's  board  ! 
Cease  your  laments  and  from  your  cries  abstain, 
Let  dust  on  dust  over  the  mound  be  poured  ! 
Who  is  the  man  to  question  God's  decree  ? 
And  whose  the  eye  th'  abysses  to  explore  ? 
God  of  the  dismal  tomb,  we  worship  thee. 
But  tremble,  shuddering,  as  we  adore. 
Dust  may  in  dust  again  its  fellow  find, 
But  from  its  crumbling  home  the  soul  will  fly ; 
His  ashes  may  be  scattered  to  the  wind, 
His  love  remains  for  ever  and  for  aye. 


THE  BATTLE. 

In  solid  grim  array. 

Like  a  storm-cloud  moist  and  gray. 

They  stagger  on  their  march  across  the  plain, 

Through  the  never-ending  zone 

Where  the  iron  dice  are  thrown : 

A  stealthy  backward  glance  who  can  restrain  ? 

Hearts  almost  beat  aloud. 

When  before  the  pale-faced  crowd 

The  Major  sharply  gallops  to  the  front. 

Halt! 

The  ranks  respond  to  the  abrupt  command. 

Silent  and  motionless  the  regiments  stand. 


What  is  that,  in  the  dawning  glow, 
Glimmering  over  the  height  ? 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  139 

Do  the  enemy's  standards  show  ? 

Yes,  they  are  well  in  sight. 

God  be  with  you,  wife  and  child  ! 

Do  they  sing  as  they  come  ? 

Hark  to  the  scream  of  their  piping  wild 

And  the  rolling  of  the  drum  ! 

A  burst  of  barbaric,  melodious  tone  : 

It  curdles  the  marrow  and  shivers  the  bone ! 
God  keep  you,  comrades,  in  His  love 
Till  we  meet  again  in  the  world  above ! 


Lightning  flashes  seem  to  glare, 
Crashing  thunders  split  the  air. 
Eyelids  quiver  'neath  the  blast. 
Watchwords  through  the  hosts  are  passed. 
Be  it  so  !     The  watchwords  tell ; 
Bolder  now  our  bosoms  swell. 
Death  stalks  abroad  :  an  iron  hail 
Pours  through  the  murky  sulphur  veil. 

In  grim  embrace  the  hosts  are  locked. 

"  Ready  !  "  's  the  word  ;  the  guns  are  cocked. 

Kneehng  the  foremost  rank 

Fires ;  some  fall  to  rise  no  more. 

Volleys  of  grape  in  torrents  pour. 

Yet  filled  is  every  blank. 

Death  right  and  left  and  all  around ; 

Whole  regiments  welter  on  the  ground. 

The  sun  goes  down,  yet  still  they  fight. 

And  over  the  army  descends  the  night. 

God  keep  you,  comrades,  in  His  love 
Till  we  meet  again  in  the  world  above ! 

The  living  mingle  with  the  dead. 
On  corpses  falls  the  stumbling  tread. 


MO  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

And  spouting  streams  of  blood  descend. 

— "  What,  Frank,  thou  there  ?     My  Charlotte  greet, 
good  friend ! " 

(Wilder  the  tide  of  battle  rolled.) 

"  I  will !  "     But  oh,  my  lads,  behold  ! 

The  grape  is  bursting  in  our  rear ! 

"  Thy  Charlotte  I  will  greet,  friend ;  have  no  fear ; 

Eepose  in  peace !     Where  most  the  bullets  fly. 

Forlorn  and  friendless,  comrade,  there  stand  I." 

Hither,  thither  sways  the  light. 

Dark  over  the  army  broods  the  night. 

God  keep  you,  comrades,  in  His  love 
Till  we  meet  again  in  the  world  above  ! 

Ha !  what  was  that  went  crashing  by  ? 

In  every  direction  the  gallopers  fly. 

The  dragoons  are  right  in  the  thick  of  the  foe, 

And  his  murderous  thunders  feebler  grow. 

Comrades,  'tis  Victory  ! 

Their  craven  limbs  in  terror  quail, 

And  in  the  dust  his  standards  trail. 

Decided  is  the  bloody  fight ; 
Victorious  day  dispels  the  night ! 
The  rolling  drums,  the  fifers  shrill  — 
The  air  with  strains  of  triumph  fill ! 
Farewell,  dear  comrades,  who  linger  here : 
We  shall  meet  again  in  another  sphere ! 


FEIENDSHIP. 

The  maker  of  the  Universe,  my  friend, 
Finds  not  in  little  thoughts  themselves  an  end, 
Ranged  in  laborious  and  ordered  row. 
The  fly-wheel  once  in  motion,  it  will  turn 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  141 

(As  my  dear  Newtou  failed  not  to  discern) 
Pinions  in  realms  above  and  those  below. 

It  drives  the  spheres  with  overmastering  rein, 
The  world's  great  heart  in  fetters  to  enchain, 
As  in  their  labyrinthine  course  they  ghde  — 
And  spirit-forms,  in  intertwining  throng, 
Toward  the  great  master-spirit  press  along, 
As  press  the  rivers  to  the  ocean  tide. 

And  was  it  not  this  influence  divine 

Which  knit  our  hearts  for  ever  —  thine  and  mine  — 

In  an  exultant  fellowship  of  love  ? 

Ah !  Kaphael,  leaning  on  thine  arm,  e'en  I 

Dare  press  in  glad,  confiding  ecstasy 

To  the  great  master-spirit  up  above. 

Ah !  happy  moment,  when  I  found  thy  trace, 
Held  thee,  'mid  millions,  in  my  fond  embrace ; 
(For  amid  millions  thou  alone  art  mine.) 
Even  if  Chaos  split  the  world  in  twain, 
Yet  kindred  atoms  will  unite  again ; 
Happen  what  may,  our  spirits  will  combine. 


ROUSSEAU. 

A  MONUMENT  to  point  our  Age's  shame, 
A  blot  for  ever  on  thy  country's  fame, 
Grave  of  Rousseau,  to  me  thou  art  right  dear! 
Over  thy  ruined  life  may  quiet  reign  — 
That  quiet  peace  thyself  had  sought  in  vain  — 
Quiet  and  peace  at  least  thou  findest  here  ! 

When  will  these  ancient  wounds  be  covered  o'er  ? 
The  wise  oft  perished  in  dark  days  of  yore  ; 


142  POEMS   OF  SCHILLER 

Now  days  are  brighter,  yet  they  die  as  then. 

Socrates  to  the  Sophists  fell  a  prey, 

Rousseau  yields  to  the  Christian s  of  to-day ; 

—  Eousseau  !  —  who  out  of  Christians  fashioned  men. 

Mine  own  voluptuous  joy  I  recognise 
Truly  reflected  in  thy  flasliing  eyes. 
I  marvel  at  myself  —  in  thee  ! 
The  earth  is  painted  in  still  warmer  tints, 
And  my  beloved's  attitude  imprints 
On  heaven  itself  his  own  divinity. 

Its  darker  moods  dejection  lightly  cheers 
By  throwing  off  her  heavy  load  of  tears 
On  to  the  gentle  breast  of  love  divine. 
Why,  do  not  even  rapture's  torturing  throes 
In  thine  eyes'  eloquence  bespeak  repose  — 
And  find  therein  a  lasting,  happy  shrine  ? 

If  in  the  Universe  I  stood  alone, 

I  would  imagine  souls  in  every  stone, 

And  each  with  ravishing  caresses  greet. 

The  winds  of  heaven  should  hear  my  bitter  cry, 

And  if  the  abysses  only  made  reply, 

Fool  that  I  am  !  —  still,  sympathy  is  sweet ! 

Insensate  bodies  are  we  when  we  hate  — 
Gods,  when  in  love  our  anger  we  abate ! 
After  the  gentle  thrall  of  bonds  we  yearn  ! 
Up  and  along  the  many-threaded  course 
Of  countless  souls,  which  lack  creative  force. 
The  overmastering  impulse  bids  us  turn. 

So,  arm  in  arm,  in  lofty  course  we  steer 
Down  from  tlie  Mongol  to  the  Grecian  seer, 
(Nearest  of  kinsmen  to  the  Seraph  host). 
And  on  with  rhythmical  accord  we  sweep. 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  143 

Till  in  the  glory  of  the  eternal  deep 

The  sense  of  Time  and  Measurement  is  lost. 

Unfriended  was  the  ruler  of  the  skies : 
He  felt  his  need,  and  bade  the  Spirits  rise 
His  glory,  mirror-like,  to  testify. 
No  peer  that  wondrous  Being  ever  knew ; 
From  the  vast  cup  of  Spirit-hfe  he  drew 
The  foaming  opulence  —  Eternity  ! 


THE   FUGITIVE. 

Fkesh  rustles  the  morning's  enhvening  breeze ; 

The  newly-born  light  through  the  gloom  of  the  trees 

Eight  rosily  peeps ;  through  the  bushes  it  shines, 

And  wmks  in  the  glades  of  the  sorrowful  pines. 

The  cloud-capped  mountains  raise 

Their  heads  in  golden  blaze. 

In  happy,  melodious,  twittering  tone 

The  awakening  larks  pay  their  court  to  the  Sun, 

As  he  smilingly  rises  with  juvenile  grace, 

Aglow  with  the  thrill  of  Aurora's  embrace. 

Ah  !  blessed  ye  beams, 

Whose  irradiance  streams 

In  cherishing  warmth  over  pasture  and  plain. 

What  a  silvery  tint 

On  the  fields  as  they  glint 

Like  thousands  of  suns  from  the  dewdrops  again ! 

In  the  genial  shade, 

Like  a  frolicsome  maid, 

Young  Nature  is  caught  at  her  play. 

The  breeze  interposes, 

And  coaxes  the  roses, 

And  sprinkles  an  odorous  balm  on  its  way. 


144  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

Tall  curtains  of  smoke  o'er  the  cities  are  wreathing ; 

And  neighing  and  snorting  and  stamping  and  breathing 

Come  horses  and  kine  : 

The  wagons  inchne 

Towards  the  billowy  vale. 

To  life  the  wood  springs ; 

Hawk,  falcon,  and  eagle  unfetter  their  wings, 

And  balance  and  poise  in  the  beams  as  they  sail. 

Ah  !  where  may  I  hope 

For  repose,  as  1  grope 

And  totter  along  in  despair  ? 

The  world  may  be  glad, 

But  my  heart  remains  sad, 

For  'tis  only  a  grave  which  is  there. 

Arise,  thou  rosy  morning  light,  and  tinge 
With  purple  kiss  the  wooded  plain  unfurled  ; 
And  may  the  blush  of  gentle  even  fringe 
The  peaceful  slumbers  of  the  dying  world. 
Morning !  alas,  thy  gilded  hue 
O'er  a  death-haunted  prospect  glows. 
And  rays  of  evening  but  bedew 
My  everlasting  deep  repose. 


THE  FLOWERS. 

Ye  children  of  the  youthful  Sun, 

Ye  flowers  of  the  varied  field. 

In  bliss  your  early  days  were  run. 

And  Nature's  kiss  your  childhood  sealed ; 

Clad  in  embroidery  of  light. 

And  by  fair  Flora's  hands  bedight. 

Godlike,  with  every  radiant  hue. 

And  yet,  my  children,  ye  must  sigh. 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  145 

For  Flora  did  a  soul  deny, 

And  darkness  must  your  life  imbrue. 

Lark  and  nightingale  may  sing 

In  your  ears  with  loving  plea, 

Twinkhug,  amorous  sylphs  may  cling 

Wantonly  about  your  knee. 

Aphrodite's  self  may  trace 

Calyx  crowns  your  heads  to  grace, 

As  on  love  they  cushioned  He. 

Yet,  my  children,  ye  must  weep :  — 
Love  with  all  its  feelings  deep 
She  has  chosen  to  deny. 

But,  though  my  mother's  stern  command 

Forbids  my  darling  to  behold. 

Yet  when  in  my  ecstatic  hand 

Thy  dainty  love-pledge  I  enfold, 

Then  life  and  speech  and  soul  and  heart, 

From  contact,  into  being  start, 

Tokens  of  calm  and  soothing  grief. 

Then  all  that  highest  Heaven  sends 
Within  your  gentle  petals  blends, 
And  brings  divine  relief. 


TO    SPRING. 

Hail  in  thy  youthful  beauty, 
In  Nature's  fairest  mien  ! 
With  flowery  baskets  laden. 
Be  welcome  on  the  scene ! 

What  ho  !  art  thou  returning, 
Who  art  so  bhthe  and  gay  ? 
Then  heartily  we  greet  thee, 
And  meet  thee  on  the  way. 


146  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

Bethink  thee  of  my  maiden ; 
Ah,  dear  one,  dost  thou  mind  ? 
That  maiden  loved  me  dearly, 
And  still  that  maid  is  kind. 


Full  many  a  little  flower 
I  begged  for  her  from  thee  — 
Once  more  I  come  entreating 
What  will  thine  answer  be  ? 


Hail  in  thy  youthful  beauty, 
In  Nature's  fairest  mien  ! 
With  flowery  baskets  laden, 
Be  welcome  on  the  scene ! 


TO    MINNA. 

Am  I  dreaming  ?     Is  mine  eye 
Dimmed  ?     Do  I  distinctly  see  ? 
What!     My  Minna  passing  by. 
And  she  will  not  look  at  me  ! 
On  some  dandy's  arm  to  glide. 
With  a  flippant  fan  to  play. 
Lost  in  vanity  and  pride  — 
That  is  not  my  Minna's  way. 

On  her  dainty  bonnet  toss 
Lordly  plumes  —  my  gift  they  were. 
Bows  which  o'er  her  bosom  cross 
Whisper  :  "  Minna,  have  a  care  !  " 
Flowers  which  myself  I  grew 
On  her  hair  and  breast  are  spread  : 
Ah  !  that  breast  has  proved  untrue, 
Yet  the  flowers  are  not  dead  ! 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  147 

Go,  thy  flatterers  at  thy  side  ! 
Let  me  from  thy  memory  fade. 
Veual  toadies  are  thy  guide ; 
I  despise  thee,  fickle  maid. 
Go !     For  thee  beat  once  a  heart. 
Throbbing  to  a  noble  key ; 
Now  it  knows  the  bitter  smart 
Of  adoring  fools  hke  thee. 

In  thy  beauty's  wrecked  remains 
I  behold  thee  all  forlorn, 
Doomed,  in  these  thy  present  pains, 
Happy  days  of  youth  to  mourn. 
Swallows  whicli  in  Spring-time  pair 
riy  before  the  Northern  blast. 
Gathering  years  your  wooers  scare, 
And  your  friend  aside  is  cast. 

Those  who  once  for  Minna's  kiss 
With  enraptured  fervour  sighed, 
Now  thy  vanished  beauty  miss. 
And  thy  drooping  years  deride. 

Shall  not  I,  then,  mock  thee  too  ? 
Mock  thee,  Minna  ?  —  God  forefend  ! 
Rather  bitter  tears  and  true 
O'er  my  Minna  will  I  spend. 


THE   DIGNITY    OF    MANHOOD. 

I  AM  a  Man  !     Who  more  than  I  ? 
If  any,  let  him  spring 
Into  the  light  of  God's  free  sky. 
And  frisk  his  best  and  sing. 

God's  own  presentment  I  can  claim, 
And  can  tlie  die  display  ; 


148  POEMS   OF  SCHILLER 

The  bourn  from  which  the  heavens  came 
I  know,  nor  fear  the  way. 

And  well  that  I  both  dare  and  can ; 
Let  but  a  maiden  pass, 
My  spirit  cries :  —  Thou  art  a  Man  ! 
And  so  I  kiss  the  lass. 

A  blush  comes  o'er  the  maiden  fair, 
Her  bodice  grows  too  tight ; 
I  am  a  Man,  she  is  aware  — 
That's  why  her  dress  is  tight. 

How  does  she  scream  for  grace  if  I 
Surprise  her  deshabille ! 
I  am  a  Man  !     Why  did  she  cry  ? 
She  wishes  me  no  ill. 

I  am  a  Man  !     It  is  enough, 
And  in  that  name  I  dare 
A  Kaiser's  daughter  to  rebufif, 
Despite  the  rags  I  wear. 

Princesses  at  this  golden  spell 

Their  charms  to  me  unfold  : 

Dost  hear  them  call  ?  —  Ha,  mark  it  well, 

Ye  varlets  clad  in  gold ! 

I  am  a  Man !     That  ye  may  know 
When  I  my  lyre  install ; 
With  triunipli  tones  it  seems  to  glow, 
Else  would  it  only  crawl. 

From  out  this  same  creative  fount 
In  which  we  men  have  birth, 
Powers  divine  and  genius  mount  — 
All  that  is  great  on  earth. 


POEMS  OF   SCHILLER  149 

Tyrants  my  talisman  abhors, 
And  spurns  beneath  its  tread  ; 
Or,  failing  that,  as  guide  explores 
The  regions  of  the  dead. 

By  Granicus  my  talisman 

Laid  the  proud  Persian  low, 

And  when  Rome  German  soil  o'erran, 

Rome's  might  could  overthrow. 

How  proud  the  Roman  looks,  since  first 
To  Africa  he  came  ! 
With  fiery  darts  his  eyeballs  burst, 
As  Hecla  belches  flame. 

Then  comes  a  knave  of  jolly  mien, 
And  to  the  world  he  cries : 
"  Proclaim  that  ye  have  Marius  seen 
Where  Carthage  ruined  lies  ! " 

So  cries  the  Roman  in  his  pride, 
Still  mighty  in  his  fall. 
A  man  he  is,  and  nought  beside, 
Yet  domineers  o'er  all. 

His  grandsons  thereupon  began 
Their  heritage  to  drain, 
And  set  to  work,  just  as  one  man. 
To  crow  in  dulcet  strain. 

Shame  on  the  miserable  horde  ! 
Wretches  who  treat  in  jest 
Man's  lofty  rights,  man's  high  reward, 
Great  heaven's  very  best. 

They  saunter  aimlessly  through  life. 
Like  pumpkins  rudely  fraught 


150  POEMS  OF   SCHILLER 

As  human  heads  by  yokel's  knife, 
And  in  then-  skulls  is  —  nought. 

As  in  retorts  a  chemist  tries 
An  alcoholic  wine, 
Their  spirit  to  the  devil  flies, 
And  they  remain  supine. 

A  woman's  look  their  souls  unman, 
They  dread  to  meet  her  eye  ; 
And  if  they  dared  —  yet  never  can 
Why,  they  had  better  die. 

And  so  an  honest  man  they  fear, 
His  fortune  gives  them  pain  ; 
Who  cannot  make  a  man,  can  ne'er 
For  man  love  entertain. 

And  so  I  hold  my  head  on  high, 
And  plume  myself,  and  sing  :  — 
I  am  a  Man  !     Who  more  than  I ! 
And  frisk  my  best  and  sing. 


TO   A   MOEALIST. 

Why  check  youth's  ardour  with  thy  dull  advice, 
And  teach  that  love  is  labour  thrown  away  ? 
Thou  shiverst  there  amid  the  Winter's  ice 
And  speakst,  contemptuous,  of  Golden  May. 

Time    was    when    thou    didst    storm     the    maidens' 

charms,  — 
A  hero  of  the  waltzing  crowd,  forsooth  — 
Carried  a  heaven-born  burden  in  thine  arms, 
And  sippedst  nectar  from  the  hps  of  youth. 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  151 

If  at  that  moment  this  terrestrial  ball 
From  its  accustomed  axis  had  been  thrown, 
'Tis  likely  thou  wouldst  ne'er  have  heard  it  fall, 
Absorbed  iu  Julia's  blandishments  alone. 

Look  back,  then,  kindly  on  that  happy  state 
Even  Philosophy  will  falter  when 
The  ageing  pulses  in  their  course  abate  :  — 
Immortals  never  yet  were  born  of  men  ! 

'Tis  well  when  wisdom,  clarified  by  years, 
Infusions  of  some  warm  young  blood  receives. 
Leave  it  to  denizens  of   higher  spheres 
To  accomplish  that  which  mortal  ne'er  achieves. 

And  yet  my  earthly  counsellor  delights 
My  heaven-begotten  spirit  to  enchain. 
He  will  not  let  me  rise  to  Angel  heights, 
Let  me  as  man,  then,  follow  in  his  train. 


THE   GEIM   COUNT   EBERHAED  OF   WURT- 

TEMBERG. 

Attend,  I  say,  all  ye  who  can ! 
I'll  have  you  understand 
That  many  a  right  worthy  man. 
And  heroes  ever  in  the  van, 
Were  born  in  Suabia's  land. 

Edward  and  Charles  I  disregard : 
Frederick  and  Louis  —  Tush  ! 
Why,  all  the  set  I  would  discard  ;  — 
Give  me  our  Count  of  Eberhard, 
Fierce  as  the  storm-cloud's  rush. 


152  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

And  Ulrich  too,  his  worthy  son, 
Who  loved  the  clash  of  steel ; 
By  Ulrich,  fighting  once  begun, 
No  forward  step  was  e'er  undone 
In  battle's  dread  appeal. 

The  Reutlingers  at  our  array 
Vow  vengeance  loud  and  deep, 
Keen  for  the  laurels  of  the  day ; 
Eight  valiantly  their  sabres  play, 
Or  from  their  girdles  peep. 

He  fell  upon  them  —  but  in  vain. 
And  came  bespattered  home. 
His  father  glanced  in  fierce  disdain ; 
The  youthful  warrior  fled  amain. 
And  tears  began  to  come. 


■"O^ 


Abide,  ye  rogues  !  he  cried,  beware ! 
(Ashamed  and  smarting  sore) 
For  by  my  father's  beard  I  swear 
This  trifling  error  to  repair 
And  steep  in  burghers'  gore. 

And  soon  the  tumult  raged  again, 
And  men  and  horses  pressed 
To  Doffingeu  with  clanging  train : 
Scarce  could  the  youth  his  fury  chain, 
And  shouted  with  the  best. 


Passed  was  the  watchword  of  the  day  — 
It  was  "  the  battle  lost." 
Like  whirlwinds  whistled  round  the  fray, 
And  smeared  with  blood  we  forced  our  way 
Amid  the  Lancer  host. 


POEMS  OF   SCHILLER  153 

With  lion  rage  the  youthful  knight 
Tosses  his  gleaming  brand  ; 
Before  him  wildly  heaves  the  fight, 
Behind  him  oaths  and  groans  unite, 
Lo,  death  on  every  hand. 

Ah  !  woe  is  me,  a  sabre  slash 

Full  on  his  neck  descends. 

His  comrades  haste  to  tend  the  gash, 

In  vain,  —  His  teeth  unconscious  gnash, 

And  his  last  breath  he  spends. 

The  victor's  onward  path  was  stayed, 
Wept  friend  and  foe  ahke. 
Then  did  the  Count  his  knights  upbraid : 
"  Like  other  men  my  son  is  made  ! 
Forward,  my  sons,  and  strike  ! " 

With  doubled  rage  the  lances  ply, 
All  hearts  for  vengeance  thrill ; 
Heap  upon  heap  the  bodies  lie, 
Until  pell-mell  the  burghers  fly 
O'er  wood  and  dale  and  hill. 

Then  back  with  merry  trumpet  sound 
Into  the  camp  we  came  ; 
And  old  and  young  with  joyful  bound 
Danced  as  the  foaming  cup  went  round, 
Our  triumph  to  proclaim. 

But  our  old  Count  —  ay,  what  of  him, 
Confronted  with  his  dead  ? 
Within  his  tent,  alone  and  grim, 
He  sits  and  views  with  eyelids  dim 
Tlie  son  whose  soul  has  fled. 


154  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

And  thus  it  is  we  deeply  rue 
Our  lord,  whom  we  have  lost ; 
The  thuuders  did  his  arms  endue, 
Him  as  our  country's  star  we  knew 
—  Himself  a  hero-host ! 

Then,  hearken  to  me  all  who  can ! 
I'll  have  you  understand 
That  many  a  right  worthy  man, 
And  heroes  ever  in  the  van, 
Were  born  in  Suabia's  land. 


THE    INVINCIBLE   ARMADA. 

(Imitated  from  an  ancient  poet.) 

It  comes,  it  comes  —  the  haughty  Southern  fleet 
(The  very  ocean  'neath  its  weight  complains). 
Bearing  a  brand-new  God,  who  has  his  seat 
'Mid  thousand  thunders  and  the  clank  of  chains. 
Of  frowning  citadels  a  floating  host 
(Its  equal  never  stemmed  the  ocean's  tides), 
Invincible  men  call  it,  as  it  glides 
Over  the  frighted  waters  toward  the  coast. 
Terror  gives  meaning  to  the  boastful  name, 
Terror  its  mien  and  attitude  proclaim. 
Onward  in  slow  and  stately  guise  it  pressed 
(And  Neptune  staggering  his  burden  bore). 
The  end  of  all  things  hidden  in  its  breast, 
And,  as  it  neared,  the  tempest  ceased  to  roar. 

Great-hearted  Britain,  mistress  of  the  deep. 
Before  thy  shores  the  hostile  navies  stand. 
And  threaten  with  their  countless  hosts  to  sweep 
From  end  to  end  thy  happy,  sea-girt  land ! 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  155 

Woe  to  thy  free-boru  race !     A  thimder  cloud, 
Pregnant  with  ill,  hangs  o'er  it  like  a  shroud. 

Who  was  it  that  tliis  priceless  treasure  gained. 
And  made  thee  Queen  of  all  the  nations  round  ? 
It  was  thyself,  by  tyrant  kings  constrained, 
Who  that  supremest  law  of  empire  found  — 
That  glorious  charter,  which  thy  princes  brings 
Down  to  the  ranks,  lifts  citizens  to  kings. 
A  milUon  foes  thine  undisputed  might 
At  sea  has  vanquished  in  unequal  fight. 
Let  neighbouring  peoples  own  with  one  accord 
Thy  spirit  wrought  it  and  thy  trusty  sword ! 

Unhappy  land  !     Before  these  ponderous  keels 
With  thunders  charged,  thine  aacient  glory  reels ; 
The  very  earth  stands  gazing  with  affright. 
And  all  free  hearts  beat  faster  at  the  sight, 
And  noble  souls  await  with  sorrowing  shame 
Th'  impending  ruin  of  thine  ancient  fame. 

But  God  almighty,  watching  from  on  high, 
Saw  thy  foe's  lion-blazoned  ensigns  wave. 

"  Shall  I,"  said  He,  "  commit  without  a  sigh 
Mine  own  dear  Albion  to  a  certain  grave, 
Witness  the  fall  of  this  heroic  stock 
Which  stems  oppression  like  a  wall  of  rock, 
Suffer  extinction  from  this  rolHng  sphere 
Of  the  one  dam  'gainst  Tyranny's  career  ? " 

"  Never,"  He  cried,  "  this  cradle  of  the  Free, 
This  home  of  manly  valour  shall  go  down ! " 
Th'  Almighty  breathed,  and  over  every  sea, 
To  every  wind  the  Armada's  might  was  strown.^ 

iThe  last  two  lines  refer  to  the  medal  which  Queen  Elizabeth 
caused  to  be  struck  in  commemoration  of  her  victory.  It  repre- 
sents a  fleet  founderins:  in  a  storm,  and  bears  the  inscription, 
Afflavit  Deus,  et  dissipati  sunt. 


156  POEMS   OF  SCHILLER 


THE   GODS    OF   GREECE. 

What  time  the  happy  world  was  guided, 

Ye  Gods,  by  your  indulgent  hand, 
When  over  happy  men  presided 

Fair  beings  born  of  Fable-land, 
Ah !  what  another  age  existed 

When  your  mysterious  rites  were  paid, 
When  garlands  for  thy  shrines  were  twisted, 

Venus,  enchanting  Cyprian  maid. 

When  luminous  imagination 

Wrapped  Truth  in  Fiction's  airy  fold, 
Then  life's  blood  flowed  throughout  creation. 

And,  wavelike,  o'er  its  limits  rolled. 
In  nature  then  a  nobler  merit 

Man  recognised  with  grateful  love, 
And  all  things  felt  the  hallowed  spirit, 

Whose  charm  betrayed  the  Gods  above. 

Where  now,  if  we  shall  trust  the  sages. 

Insensate  whirls  an  orb  of  fire. 
There  Hehos  in  far-of!'  ages, 

Majestic,  drove  his  golden  tire. 
Nymphs  sported  in  these  mountain  passes, 

A  Dryad  dwelt  in  yonder  tree. 
While  winsome  Naiads  from  their  vases 

The  silver-twinkling  burns  set  free. 

Good  service  wrought  these  laurel  buslies, 

Sleeps  Niobe  in  yonder  stone. 
Sad  Syrinx  wails  amid  those  rushes, 

This  grove  hears  Philomela's  moan. 
When  her  Persephone  was  ravished, 

This  brook  received  Demeter's  tears. 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  157 


And  here  Cythera  vainly  lavished 
Her  suasion  on  unheeding  ears. 


■o 


The  Gods  themselves  their  homage  yielded 

To  daughters  sprung  of  Pyrrha's  race, 
And  for  their  sakes  Hyperion  wielded 

The  shepherd's  crook  with  lowly  grace. 
For  then  were  Heroes,  Gods,  and  Mortals 

United  in  the  bond  of  love ; 
Equal  in  Amathusiau  portals, 

Men  bowed  with  those  who  rule  above. 

All  sceptic  gloom  and  duluess  vanished 

Where  your  inspiring  cult  was  known ; 
Untuneful  souls  were  rightly  banished, 

And  glad  contentment  ruled  alone. 
Then  Beauty  for  itself  was  treasured ; 

No  need  your  godlike  joys  to  rein 
While  blushing  Nymphs  and  Graces  measured 

The  hmits  of  your  happy  chain. 

Your  shrines  were  decked  in  gayest  dressing, 

The  Heroes  in  your  honour  strove, 
And  for  the  Isthmian  laurels  pressing, 

Intent,  the  thundering  chariots  drove. 
The  changing  dance  in  briglit  procession 

Before  your  glowing  altars  wound. 
And  triumph-crowns  with  light  oppression 

Your  free  and  fragrant  tresses  bound.     - 


^o"- 


The  thyrsus-bearers'  cries  are  pealing, 
The  leopards  in  their  harness  strain. 

And  Fauns  and  Satyrs,  gaily  reeling. 
Herald  the  jolly  Bacchus'  train. 

Half-frenzied  Ma?nads  wildly  crying. 
The  glories  of  the  wdne-cup  boast 


158  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

In  words  and  action,  ever  plying 

With  fuller  bowls  their  willing  host. 

No  grisly  spectre  dared  to  sadden 

The  parting  mortal  at  his  death, 
For  angel-guards  were  there  to  gladden, 

Then  quenched  the  flame  with  loving  breath. 
Necessity  by  airy  visions 

Was  measured  on  a  kinder  scale. 
And  even  Destiny's  decisions 

Seemed  milder  through  a  human  veil. 

The  friends  of  yore  were  reunited 

On  still  Elysium's  shadowy  plain ; 
True  lover's  vows  afresh  are  plighted, 

The  victor's  team  careers  again. 
Once  more  the  wail  of  Linus  rises, 

Her  spouse  reviews  Alceste's  charms, 
His  friend  Orestes  recognises. 

And  Philoctetes  finds  his  arms. 

With  worthier  prize  was  he  commended 

Who  trod  the  stony  path  of  right, 
And  Heroes,  when  their  course  was  ended. 

Shared  with  the  blest  eternal  hght. 
The  Gods  with  silent  acquiescence 

Beheld  tlie  summoned  dead  depart ; 
On  high  the  great  Twin  bretlireu's  presence 

Gave  courage  to  the  pilot's  heart. 

Farewell !  Thou  happy  world,  whose  graces 
Attested  nature's  earhest  Spring ; 

Now  can  we  only  seek  tliy  traces 
As  fable  tells  and  fairies  sing. 

Alas !  the  happy  scene  has  vanished, 
Before  me  yawns  an  empty  frame ; 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  159 

The  godhead,  from  the  picture  banished, 
Leaves  but  a  shade,  a  thought,  a  name. 

Those  buds  have  all  untimely  perished 

Before  the  scathing  Northern  blast. 
Farewell,  ye  Gods,  so  dearly  cherished ; 

Ye  pass  away  that  One  may  last. 
In  vain  I  seek  with  sad  devotion 

Selene  in  the  starry  dome  ; 
The  woods  reply  not,  and  the  ocean, 

Unheeding,  churns  th'  eternal  foam. 

Blind  to  the  joy  which  she  dispenses, 

And  careless  of  her  own  great  name, 
Unconscious  that  my  yearning  senses 

Demand  her  all-inspiring  flame  ; 
Whose  pulse  no  longer  Art  can  waken. 

Blank  as  the  stroke  which  marks  the  hour, 
Nature  herself,  by  God  forsaken, 

Bows,  slavish,  to  a  soulless  power.  ^ 

Behold !  to-day  her  grave  she  hollows, 

To-morrow  sees  her  rise  anew ; 
Month  upon  mouth  serenely  follows, 

The  days  march  on  in  order  due. 
The  Gods  depart,  in  sorrowing  token 

That  happy  childhood  is  outgrown  ; 
The  leading-strings  at  length  are  broken. 

The  ungrateful  world  can  soar  alone. 

All  lovely  form  with  them  was  taken 

To  grace  the  home  whence  erst  they  came ; 

So  was  the  world  by  Art  forsaken, 
And  Beauty  left  us  but  her  name. 
17.  e. ,  the  power  of  gravitation. 


[6o  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

The  Gods  on  Pindus'  heights  find  leisure, 
Untroubled  by  the  tide  of  time ; 

And  Fancy,  crushed  by  life's  stern  pressure, 
Lives  but  in  Poetry  sublime. 


A    CELEBKATED    WOMAK 

Shall  I  condole,  my  friend  ? — Dost  rue 
With  curses  deep  thy  marriage  bond  ? 
And  why  ?  —  Because  thy  spouse  untrue 
Has  found  in  other  arms  more  fond 
That  which  in  thine  was  not  her  share  ? 

Hear  others'  woes  ere  thou  despond. 
And  learn  thy  lighter  grief  to  bear. 

Dost  grumble  that  in  thy  domains 

Another  shares  ?  —  Why,  lucky  man, 

My  wife  to  the  whole  human  race  pertains. 

Eight  from  the  Belt  to  the  Moselle, 

To  Apennine's  abysses  fell, 

Where  fashions  their  precedence  keep  ; 

In  every  booth  she's  offered  cheap ; 

In  diligences,  on  the  deep, 

She  must  the  curious  muster  pass 

Of  every  pedant,  every  ass. 

And  brave  the  cad's  censorious  glass ; 

And,  as  some  petty  critic  may  control. 

On  flowers  trips  or  treads  on  burning  coal 

—  Pantheon,  or  the  pillory,  her  goal. 

A  Leipzig  man  —  God  grant  he  have  his  due  — 

Took  her  dimensions,  off'ered  her  for  sale 

In  fragments  to  the  jmblic  by  retail  — 

Fragments  which  I  —  but,  sure,  none  other  —  knew. 

Thy  wife,  thanks  to  the  canon,  is  aware 
That  'tis  an  honour  thy  good  name  to  bear ; 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  i6i 

She  uuderstauds,  and  her  good  sense  is  shown. 
(As  "  Ninon's  liusband  "  only  I  am  known.) 
You  say  that  at  the  tables,  in  the  pit, 
Your  entry  rouses  each  malicious  wit ; 
Fortunate  man,  the  world  might  envy  thee 
Such  luck  as  that.  —  Why,  brother,  as  for  me  — 
A  whey-cure  had  the  fortune  to  provide 
An  honoured  place  for  me  at  her  left  side. 
On  me  no  kind  of  interest  is  spent, 
While  on  my  better  half  all  eyes  are  bent. 

The  dawn  scarce  shows  its  crest, 

When  the  stairs  creak  'ueath  blue  and  yellow  coats. 

With  unstamped  letters,  packages,  and  notes. 

To  "  the  illustrious  lady  "  all  addressed. 

I  must  arouse  her,  calmly  though  she  lies :  — 

"  Madam,  the  papers  —  Berlin,  Jena  news  ! " 

At  once  the  lovely  sleeper  raised  her  eyes, 

And  pounced  with  eager  glance  on  the  reviews. 

The  fair  blue  eye  —  never  a  look  for  me  — 

Skims  through  some  stupid  puerility  — 

(Screams  in  the  children's  nursery  she  hears) 

Pausing,  she  asks,  how  are  the  little  dears  ? 

And  now  her  toilet  waits. 

But  side-looks  only  at  the  glass  she  flings. 

And  mutters  sullen,  discontented  threats 

Which  give  her  terrified  attendant  wings. 

The  Graces  from  her  dressing-table  fly, 

And  where  fair  Cupids  should  their  office  ply, 

A  band  of  Furies  in  attendance  springs. 

Anon  the  carriage-folk  approach, 
And  lackeys  spring  from  every  coach. 
The  perfumed  abbot,  the  seigneurial  lord, 
The  Briton  (who  the  German  tongue  ignored), 


i62  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

Gossing  &  Co.,  the  Messrs.  Thingumbob, 

—  All  wish  with  the  great  lady  to  hobnob. 

With  what  a  supercilious  eye  they  stare 

To  see  a  thing  —  a  husband  —  crouching  there ! 

Here  may  the  dullest  flat,  the  seediest  wight, 

(Dare  your  wife's  friend  as  much  ?)  express  delight, 

And  as  admirers  of  the  fair  one  pose ; 

And  this,  withal,  before  my  very  nose. 

I  must  look  on,  and,  merely  to  behave, 

His  precious  "  company  to  dine  "  must  crave. 

At  table,  friend,  begins  my  misery. 

Short  work  is  made  of  my  poor  cellar's  store ; 

Burgundy  (which  the  doctor  bans  for  me) 

Down  their  approving  gullets  I  must  pour. 

My  hard-earned  daily  bread  I  must  subscribe 

To  stuff  this  greedy,  parasitic  tribe. 

This  immortality  —  confound  its  ways  !  — 

With  my  good  Niersteiuer  havoc  plays. 

Away  with  all  who  use  the  printing-press ! 

And  what  my  meed  of  thanks?    I  bid  thee  guess  — 

A  shrug,  a  gesture,  some  unmaunered  bluff  — 

Dost  understand? —  Oh,  I  see  plain  enough  ! 

Who  such  a  woman  —  such  a  priceless  gem  — 

To  live  with  such  a  noodle  would  condemn  ? 

Spring-time  approaches,  and  fair  Nature  flings 
Her  varied  tapestry  o'er  glade  and  field ; 
A  kindly  green  the  shrubs  and  flowers  yield. 
Loud  trills  the  lark  ;  to  life  the  forest  springs. 
—  To  her  no  more  the  Spring  appeals ; 
The  songstress  of  our  pleasures  gay, 
Of  groves  where  we  were  wont  to  play. 
Now  nothing  to  her  heart  reveals. 
The  nightingales  !  —  they  cannot  read  ; 
The  lilies  !  —  they  can  not  admire  ; 
And  Nature's  triumphs,  as  they  plead, 


POEMS   OF   SCHILLER  163 

Do  but  an  epigram  inspire. 

To  travelling  the  time  of  year  invites ; 

—  Why,  Pyrmont  must  just  now  be  crowded  out ; 
In  praise  of  Carlsbad  every  one  unites 

—  And  there  she  is,  amid  the  motley  rout, 
Where  princely  riband,  doctor's  gown. 
With  every  kind  of  fashion  blends ; 
Show  themselves  off,  strut  up  and  down, 
And  seem  to  be  the  best  of  friends. 

From  many  climes  they  come  with  languid  zeal, 
Their  tattered  virtue  of  its  wounds  to  heal. 

—  Learn  thine  advantage,  friend ;  there  strolls  my 
wife, 

And  seven  orphans  palms  on  me  for  life  ! 

Ah  !  my  first  love  —  my  young  romantic  days  ! 
How  quickly  have  ye  vanished  from  the  scene ! 
A  paragon,  beyond  all  human  praise 

—  Such  was  my  wife  —  a  goddess  in  her  mien. 
Of  brilliant  wit,  expansive  mind. 

She  was  of  character  refined. 

I  gladly  bore  her  soft  control, 

And  by  her  playful  side  reclined. 

The  words  —  "I  love  thee,  thou  art  mine ! " 

Sprang  eloquently  from  her  eyes  : 

I  led  her  to  the  sacred  shrine, 

And  who  so  happy  with  his  prize  ? 

A  vista  of  entrancing  years 
Mirrored  before  me  seemed  to  rise. 
And  open  lay  the  very  spheres. 

I  saw  fair  children  gambol  round 
With  circling  dance  her  kindly  knee 

—  The  fairest  of  the  circle  she  — 
Her  heart  with  mine  in  harmony, 
Our  souls  for  ever  firmly  bound. 


l64  POEMS  OF   SCHILLER 

And  then  appeared  —  oh,  cursed  be  his  name  ! 
—  A  mighty  man  of  quite  superior  cast. 
This  mighty  genius  did  but  breathe  a  blast, 
And  down  my  house  of  cards  in  atoms  came. 

What  have  I  left  ?  — Ah  !  transformation  fell ! 

As  from  me  fades  the  intoxicating  spell, 

What  of  my  angel  now  remains  ? 

A  virile  spirit,  but  arrayed 

In  sexless  form  —  nor  man  nor  maid, 

Not  fit  to  love,  nor  hold  the  reins  ; 

A  child  in  giant's  armour  clad, 

A  mean  betwixt  the  wise  and  mad. 

Who  has  renounced  her  native  grace 

In  coarser  scenes  to  find  a  place. 

Down  from  her  throne-hke  pinnacle  of  fame 

She  falls,  and  quits  her  dear  mysterious  home. 

Struck  out  from  Cytherea's  golden  tome,^ 

To  earn  —  a  sorry  newspaper  acclaim. 


LINES   WEITTEN    IN    A    YOUNG   LADY'S 

ALBUM. 

Like  a  fair  child,  with  merry  native  jest, 

My  dear  young    friend,   the   world  around  thee 

plays ; 
Yet  think  not  that  the  character  impressed 
Upon  thy  heart,  and  mirrored  in  its  rays 
Presents  the  truth.  —  The  silent  reverence 
Which  from  thy  soul's  nobility  has  grown, 
The  marvels  of  thine  own  omnipotence, 
The  living  grace,  essentially  thine  own,  — 
These  thou  dost  count  as  hfe's  habitual  prize 

iThe  "  Goldeu  Book"  i.  e.,  the  Roll  of  Nobility,  as  kept  in  the 
Italian  Republics. 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  165 

Promiscuously  granted  to  mankind. 

If  he  exist,  let  me  the  mortal  find 
Who  youth's  untainted  magic  can  despise, 
Or  to  the  charm  of  innocence  be  blind. 

How  dost  thou  revel  in  the  fragrant  band 
Of  flowers  which  around  thy  footsteps  press, 
Of  souls  beatified  at  thy  command, 
Which  spell-bound,  thine  ascendency  confess  ! 

Remain,  then,  happy  in  thy  fond  conceit. 
And  may  no  wakenii;ig  illusion  cheat 
The  stately  tenour  of  thy  dream's  caress. 

As  in  thy  beds  the  shining  flowers  blaze, 
Thy  fancies  plant  —  but  with  averted  gaze  ! 

Watch  them,  indeed,  but  never  venture  nigh  ; 
They  do  but  hve  to  satisfy  the  eye. 
E'en  at  thy  feet  they  end  their  little  day : 
—  The  nearer  thee,  the  nearer  to  decay ! 


THE    ARTISTS. 

Man,  to  what  dignity  dost  thou  attain, 

Marking  the  Century's  descending  plane 

In  all  the  glory  of  thy  prime  ; 

Of  spirit  cultivated  and  refined. 

Of  gentle  mien,  but  of  determined  mind, 

The  ripest  son  thou  art  of  Time ; 

Of  large  discretion,  yet  by  rule  impressed, 

In  meekness  strong,  and  of  a  prize  possessed 

Of  which  thy  conscience  long  was  unaware ; 

Lord  of  fair  Nature,  who  thy  chains  adores. 

Who  in  a  thousand  tests  thy  strength  explores. 

And  quits  the  wilderness  thy  fate  to  share  ! 

Intoxicated  by  the  triumph  gained, 
Do  not  forget  to  thank  the  kindly  hand 


l66  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

Which  found  thee  orphaned,  wandering  at  large 
In  tears  along  life's  solitary  marge, 
Found  thee  a  veritable  toy  of  chance, 
But  breathed  upon  thee  Arts'  divine  romance, 
And  silently  thy  youthful  heart  inspired ; 
Taught  thee  to  bind  in  a  controlhug  chain 
Passions  which  might  thy  tender  conscience  stain. 
With  easy  touch  the  highest  virtues  taught, 
Showed  that  sublime  perfection  might  be  sought 
In  simple  parables  and  there  acquired. 

That  hand  remember  which,  on  teaching  bent, 
Its  darling  to  the  hands  of  strangers  lent ; 
Ah  !  to  the  mistress,  Art,  be  ever  true. 
And  never  stoop  her  waiting-maids  to  woo ! 
The  bee  for  diligence  the  palm  may  bear, 
The  worm  can  teach  thee  aptitude  and  zeal. 
Thy  learning  with  the  spirits  thou  mayst  share. 
But  Art,  0  man,  can  but  to  thee  appeal. 

Through  beauty's  morning  gate  thou  foundest  place. 
In  lands  where  knowledge  holds  her  sturdy  sway, 
And  Wisdom  dons  the  attributes  of  grace 
And  learns  to  pose  in  delicate  array. 
The  stirring  spirit  of  the  Muses'  lyre 
Which  all  thy  chords  with  sweet  emotion  thrilled 
Woke  in  thy  slumbering  heart  the  natural  fire 
And  knowledge  of  the  universe  instilled. 

That  which  deliberate  Eeason  understood 
When  whole  millenniums  had  passed  away, 
A  symbol  of  the  beautiful  and  good 
To  infant  faculties  discovered  lay. 
Its  fair  presentment  bade  us  love  the  right, 
Its  gentle  image  battled  against  crime, 
Ere  ever  Solon  did  his  laws  indite, 
Slowly  to  ripen  in  the  lap  of  time. 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  167 

Before  philosophers  had  learned  to  peer 

Into  the  wonders  of  eternal  space, 

Did  any  gaze  upon  the  starry  sphere 

And  not  in  awe  his  boldest  thoughts  abase  ? 

Urania  in  her  tremendous  state 

Wearing  Orion's  glories  on  her  brow, 

Visible  only  to  the  good  and  great 

—  Pure  spirits,  who  her  majesty  avow  — 

Urania  sweeps  above  the  starry  spheres, 
And,  with  her  flaming  chaplet  laid  aside, 
Upon  her  sun-illumined  throne  appears 

—  Beauty  personified  —  our  hght  and  guide. 
With  every  attribute  of  grace  endued, 

Her  childlike  innocence  appeals  to  youth, 
And  that  which  is  to-day  as  Beauty  viewed 
Anon  will  prove  to  be  the  very  Truth. 

When  the  Creator  banished  from  His  sight 
Poor  man,  and  immortality  denied. 
And  bade  him  struggle  back  as  best  he  might 
With  laboured  mental  efi'ort  to  his  side, 
When  all  the  gods  had  turned  away  in  scorn, 
She  to  his  aid  with  impulse  warm  repaired. 
And  with  the  exiled  fugitive  forlorn 
His  mortal  troubles  generously  shared. 
Here  upon  tranquil  pinion  she  sways 
About  her  darling,  where  the  Senses  dwell, 
And  with  affectionate  deceit  portrays 
Elysium  upon  his  prison  cell. 

What  time,  supported  in  that  soft  embrace, 
Tender  Humanity  such  nursing  knew, 
No  murder  legalised  could  show  its  face. 
No  guiltless  blood  the  smoking  soil  imbrue. 
The  heart  which  she  in  gentle  fetters  guides 
The  slavish  leading-strings  of  duty  spurns ; 


i68  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

,    The  twinkling  of  her  sinuous  path  subsides 
Where'er  Morahty's  effulgence  burns. 
Those  who  to  her  their  modest  service  yield, 
No  meanness  recognise,  no  perils  fear ; 
With  power  from  above  their  hearts  are  steeled  — 
Before  them  lies  the  Spirit-world  revealed. 
In  all  the  freedom  which  they  hold  so  dear. 

Most  fortunate  of  all  the  myriads  those 

—  And  purest  —  who  her  loving  cult  maintain, 
Whose  lips  the  mighty  Being's  thoughts  disclose, 
Within  whose  bosom  she  elects  to  reign ; 

Who  tend  her  altars,  and  by  her  desire 
Cherish  the  inextinguishable  fire  ; 
Unveiled  she  stands  before  their  favoured  eyes. 
And  draws  them  to  her  with  bewitching  ties  ! 
Rejoice,  then,  in  the  honourable  state 
To  which  by  lofty  rule  ye  are  ordained, 
The  glories  of  the  Spirit-world  attained, 
The  highest  posts  humanity  await ! 

Before  proportion  to  the  world  ye  brought 

—  Proportion,  which  all  essences  obey  — 

A  shapeless  building  stood  with  darkness  fraught, 

Illumined  only  by  a  feeble  ray ; 

The  tumult  of  a  visionary  host. 

Bound  all  the  senses  in  a  captive  chain, 

And  in  its  turn,  to  gentle  manners  lost. 

The  foe  a  thousand  various  missiles  hurled, 

—  Thus  to  the  savage  was  portrayed  the  world. 
Only  by  undiscerning  passions  bound 

To  the  phenomena  which  crowded  round, 
He  failed  the  soul  of  Nature  to  descry. 
And  let  her  pass  unmarked,  untasted  by. 

Yet  as  on  fluttering  wings  away  she  fled, 
Ye  strained  after  the  vision's  friendly  Shade 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  169 

With  tender  hope  and  reverential  hand, 

And  learned  that  o'er  that  blithe,  harmoniou.s  band 

The  toils  of  fellowship  were  lightly  shed. 

And  more  ethereal  became  your  glance, 

Marking  the  pliant  cedar's  lofty  crest 

Lovingly  pictured  on  fair  Ocean's  breast. 

And  shimmering  as  the  crystal  ripples  dance. 

How  could  ye  fail  those  lessons  to  descry 

Which  Nature  in  such  friendly  measure  gave  ? 

For  she  bade  Art  with  her  own  image  vie, 

Learning  from  that  reflection  on  the  wave ; 

From  her  own  being  sundered,  of  free  will. 

Her  fairy  form  she  cast  upon  the  stream. 

Mirrored  upon  its  dancing  silver  gleam. 

And  yielded  to  the  imitator's  skill. 

So  the  fair  craft  within  tliy  breast  awoke. 

The  sacred  image  which  thou  had'st  conceived 

In  sand,  in  plastic  clay  thou  didst  invoke, 

And  Art's  sublime  existence  was  achieved. 

The  charm  of  labour  did  your  soul  arrest. 

The  first  creation  harboured  in  thy  breast. 

Beneath  your  constant  observation  held. 
And  ever  marked  by  your  all-curious  eye, 
Those  gentle  visions  found  themselves  impelled 
To  yield  the  talisman  for  which  ye  sigh. 
The  wondrous  laws  which  Beauty  can  impose. 
The  marvels  which  her  treasuries  disclose, 
Were  knit  together  in  a  single  band 
By  the  light  touch  of  your  inquiring  hand. 
Rose  obelisk  and  pyramid  on  high, 
Upstood  the  Hermes,  and  the  pillar  sprang ; 
From  woodland  reeds  melodious  numbers  rang, 
And  doughty  feats  were  told  in  minstrelsy. 

The  choicest  blossoms  of  the  flowery  field 
With  dainty  judgment  in  one  posy  found  — 


I70  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

So  first  did  Nature  Art's  addresses  yield, 
So  were  the  posies  in  one  garlaud  bound ; 
More  subtly  did  th'  artistic  sense  expand 
Beneath  the  touch  of  man's  creative  hand. 
The  child  of  beauty,  perfect  of  its  kind, 
Shaped  and  completed  by  your  loving  skill, 
Loses  the  wreaths  which  round  its  temples  wind 
As  with  Reality  it  learns  to  thrill. 
The  pillar,  yielding  to  Proportion's  law, 
Must  with  its  neighbours  form  a  common  chain, 
The  hero  must  amid  the  ranks  withdraw, 
Inspiring,  clashes  the  Mseonian  strain. 

Then  the  Barbarians  in  wonder  came, 
These  new  creations  curious  to  scan : 
"  See,"  you  might  hear  their  jovial  hosts  exclaim, 
"  All  this  is  fashioned  by  the  hand  of  man  ! " 
In  happy,  careless,  sociable  array 
Agape  they  crowded  round  the  minstrel's  lyre, 
And  while  he  still  attuned  his  rousing  lay 
Of  Titans,  umrderous  beasts,  and  giant  fray, 
So  long  did  lofty  thoughts  their  souls  inspire. 
Thus  first  the  soul  to  real  bliss  is  stirred, 
Awakened  thus  to  calm,  reposeful  joy. 
Borne  from  a  distant  sphere,  without  alloy. 
Existence  by  no  crying  need  is  blurred ; 
Quiet  remains,  and  pleasures  do  not  cloy. 

Now,  shaking  off  its  sensuous  repose. 
To  freedom  sprang  th'  emancipated  mind ; 
Released  by  you,  the  careworn  slave  arose, 
Sought  happiness  and  left  his  cares  behind. 
Mere  brute  existence  with  its  narrow  scope 
Came  to  an  end  ;  man's  noble  brow  was  plain, 
The  glorious  alien,  Reason,  ceased  to  grope, 
And  bounded  from  the  free  and  startled  brain. 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  171 

Then  did  man  stand,  aud  to  the  stars  upturned 
The  kingly  lineaments  which  now  he  wore  ; 
His  radiant  eye  beneath  the  sunbeams  burned 
And  boundless  space  delighted  to  explore. 
His  features  glowed  with  a  contented  smile, 
The  soul-inspired  music  of  his  cry 
Bursting  in  song,  his  moments  would  beguile. 
And  feeling  glistened  in  his  softened  eye. 
His  quickened  lips  in  happy  blend  expressed 
Now  serious  tones  and  now  some  merry  jest. 

Working  in  darkness  like  the  grovelling  worm, 

And  moved  alone  by  sensuous  desire, 

Within  his  swelling  breast  ye  might  admire 

The  spiritual  essence  in  its  germ. 

And  if  his  sensuous  ignoble  fire 

The  glorious  germ  of  noble  love  could  stay. 

He  owed  it  to  that  first  Arcadian  Lay.  — 

Exalted  to  nobility  of  thought. 

He  saw  his  passions  to  subjection  brought, 

And  from  his  lips  harmonious  measures  rolled. 

His  cheeks  with  liquid  l)lushes  were  bedewed. 

And  what  remaining  aims  he  now  pursued 

A  spiritual  fellowship  foretold. 

The  wisdom  of  the  wisest,  and  the  might 

Of   wasting  force,  retiring  timid  grace, 

All  these  within  cue  picture  frame  unite 

And  glorify  sweet  Nature's  radiant  face. 

From  the  unknowable  men  shrank  in  dread. 

Yet  clung  to  its  reflection  unaware  ; 

And  brilliant  heroes  burned  to  have  it  said 

That  with  the  miglity  one  they  could  compare. 

Ye  caused  ideal  Beauty's  fairy  spell 

Through  all  the  bounds  of  Nature's  realm  to  swell. 


*o' 


The  reckless  fury  of  the  passions'  play, 

Th'  ungoverned  ups  and  downs  of  changing  Fate, 


172 


POE.MS  OF  SCHILLER 


Instinct  and  Duty  all  in  disarray, 

Thine  ordered  touch  did  gently  elevate, 

And  firmly  set  upon  the  upward  way. 

What  Xature  grasps  in  her  majestic  course, 

Hurls  to  the  winds,  and  into  tatters  tears, 

On  stage,  in  song  alike,  acquires  a  force 

Wliich  shows  that  ordered  harmony  is  theirs. 

So  may  ve  mark  the  secret  murderer  quail 

Before  the  Furies'  melancholy  wail : 

Their  solemn  chant  his  awful  doom  declares. 

Long  ere  the  wise  could  their  opinion  state. 

An  Iliad  had  declared  the  mystic  fate 

Of  first  antiquity,  and  made  it  plain. 

And  Providence  in  observation  sat. 

The  w^orld  considering  from  Thespis'  wain. 

But  in  the  great  procession  of  the  world 

Your  fair  proportions  were  too  soon  unfurled. 

When  Destiny,  with  its  mysterious  hand, 

Eefused  those  mighty  forces  to  disband 

Which  it  had  harmonised  before  thy  sight, 

Life  was  enshrouded  with  a  fatal  blight 

Before  its  lovely  course  was  fully  spanned. 

Then,  trusting  to  your  potency  alone, 

Your  arch  ye  hurled  across  the  dark  unknown ; 

Boldly  ye  plunged,  regardless  of  the  cost, 

Into  Avernus  rolling  through  the  gloom, 

And  found  that  life  which  seemed  for  ever  lost 

In  resions  which  exist  beyond  the  tomb. 

There  in  a  blaze  of  undiluted  light 

See  Castor  on  the  blooming  Pollux  lean  ; 

O'er  the  moon's  surface  mark  the  shadow's  flight 

Till  the  whole  orb  presents  a  silver  sheen. 

Yet  higher  still  —  and  to  the  highest  spheres, 
Th'  inventive  faculty  extends  its  sway  ; 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  173 

Creation  on  creation  fast  appears, 

And  harmony  to  harmony  gives  way. 

What  here  can  merely  captivate  the  eye, 

There  fashions  perfect  beauty  at  its  best ; 

The  graceful  charms  on  which  the  nymphs  rely, 

Purified  there,  Athene's  self  suggest. 

The  power  which  the  wrestler's  muscle  swells 

Need  not  the  gentle  deity  endow ; 

In  the  Olympian  shrine  depicted  dwells 

—  The  age's  wonder  —  Jove's  illustrious  brow. 

The  world,  transfigured  by  laborious  care, 

The  human  heart,  by  new  emotions  fanned, 

Which  all  the  trials  of  existence  share. 

For  you  Creation's  limits  can  expand. 

Awakening  man  on  swelling  pinions  flies, 

Clinging  to  Art  the  closer  as  he  soars, 

And  realms  of  beauty  all  unknown  arise 

From  the  enlightened  world's  prolific  stores. 

The  narrow  bounds  of  knowledge  cUsappear ; 

The  soul,  accustomed  'neath  your  easy  rein, 

Th'  artistic  whole  of  Beauty  to  attain 

With  rapid  and  accommodating  grace. 

Plants  Nature's  distant  columns  in  their  place, 

And  passes  by  her  on  her  dark  career. 

Now  man  can  judge  her  by  a  human  scale, 

With  weights  appraise  her  which  herself  suppUes ; 

Now  must  she  cast  away  the  envious  veil 

And  manifest  her  glories  to  his  eyes. 

With  youthful  satisfaction  he  inspires 

The  very  spheres  with  his  harmonious  strains, 

And  if  the  world's  construction  he  admires, 

'Tis  that  symmetrical  proportion  reigns. 

'Mid  all  the  seething  life  which  round  him  flows 
Dainty  Proportion  ever  holds  its  place ; 


174  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

And  Beauty's  golden  girdle  lightly  throws 

Its  fetters  round  him  in  his  earthly  race. 

The  consummated  work  its  balm  bestows, 

And  crowns  your  labours  with  triumphant  grace. 

Where  happiness  is  found  without  alloy, 

Wherever  hides  the  head  of  silent  grief, 

Where  contemplation  dwells  in  lonely  joy, 

Where  misery  from  tears  invites  relief. 

Where  terrors  thousandfold  about  him  press  — 

There  follows  an  harmonious  rippling  strain ; 

The  Graces  sport  in  wanton  idleness. 

And  with  a  chastened  mien  and  soft  address 

Around  him  cast  their  all-entrancing  chain. 

Softly,  as  lines  of  beauty  interlace. 

As  the  phenomena,  which  round  him  play, 

In  melting  outlines  give  each  other  place. 

So  gently  fleets  Ms  latest  breath  away. 

His  soul  dissolves  in  the  harmonious  swell, 

His  senses  with  voluptuous  dreams  are  fraught, 

Focussing  all  their  fading  powers  of   thought 

On  Cvtherea's  influence  to  dwell. 

His  fate  estabhshed  in  eternity, 

On  Muse  and  Grace  alternate  he  relies, 

And  bares  his  bosom  with  an  eager  cry 

To  the  impending  weapon  as  it  flies 

From  the  mild  bowstring  of  necessity. 

Ye  favourites  of  Harmony  divine, 

Cheery  companions  on  life's  dull  road, 

The  noblest,  dearest  gift  she  can  assign. 

Who  gave  us  life,  on  us  she  has  bestowed ! 

That  man  enlarged  liis  duties  should  pursue 

And  love  the  fetters  which  his  soul  endue. 

That  he  no  longer  is  the  tool  of  fate  — 

He  owes  it  all  to  your  eternal  state. 

And  your  reward  is  found  within  your  breast. 

If  round  the  bowl  whence  thoughts  of  freedom  swell 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  175 

The  merry  deities  delight  to  jest, 

If  sweet  deluding  visions  o'er  it  dwell, 

For  this  be  lovingly  caressed ! 

And  for  that  Spirit  whose  commanding  might 

Even  Necessity  with  grace  surrounds, 

Who  bids  his  ether  and  the  starry  bounds 

With  delicacy  shed  their  welcome  light. 

Who,  clad  in  terrors,  still  is  hailed  with  joy, 

And  moves  in  splendour  even  to  destroy  — 

Him  imitate,  for  his  is  Art  supreme. 

As  o'er  the  telltale  surface  of  the  stream 

The  varied  banks  liglit-footed  seem  to  glide, 

With  flowers  'neath  the  sunset  rays  unfurled. 

So  o'er  hfe's  trials  happily  preside 

The  pleasant  fictions  of  the  Shadow  world. 

Ye  led  us  forth  in  nuptial  array 

To  where  the  great  unknown  exert  their  sway, 

To  where  the  unrelenting  Fates  abide. 

The  sorrows  by  the  dismal  choir  expressed, 

With  magic  charm  ye  tenderly  invest, 

As  your  fair  urns  their  sacred  ashes  hide. 

A  thousand  thousand  years  I  have  surveyed 

The  boundless  realm  of  times  that  are  gone  by  ; 

Humanity  adored  you  while  ye  stayed. 

And  your  departure  witnessed  with  a  sigh ! 

Humanity,  which  on  impetuous  wing 

From  your  creative  hand  its  impulse  drew. 

In  later  days  rejoiced  again  to  cling 

To  your  protecting  arm,  as  wrinkles  grew. 

As  time  began  to  leave  its  certain  trace, 

When  the  strong  limbs  were  conscious  of  decay. 

And  with  a  slow  and  hesitating  pace 

The  tottering  graybeard  hobbled  on  his  way. 

Then  issued  bounteous  from  your  living  well 

A  stream  of  life  all  suffering  to  dispel ; 


176  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

Twice  did  the  count  of  Time  begin  anew 

Thanks  to  the  quickening  seed  which  thou  didst  strew. 

Ejected  by  the  wild  barbarian  train, 
Ye  snatched  the  latest  sacrificial  brand 
From  the  polluted  oriental  fane, 
And  bore  it  glowing  to  the  western  land. 
The  exile,  from  his  eastern  setting  torn, 
Eose,  a  new  day,  upon  the  western  scene, 
And,  in  Hesperian  surroundings  born, 
Ionian  flowers  peeped  in  early  green. 
A  fairer  Nature  shed  upon  the  soul 
A  clear  reflection  well  defined  and  bright, 
And  o'er  the  favoured  spirit  proudly  stole 
Th'  illuminating  Goddess  of  the  Light. 
A  thousand  thousand  fetters  fell  away, 
Then  slaves  experienced  the  rights  of  man  ; 
'Neath  the  new  generation's  milder  sway 
Mankind,  like  brothers,  owned  a  common  clan. 
With  inner  consciousness  of  noble  pride 
Ye  revelled  in  the  happiness  ye  wrought ; 
Then,  veiled  in  modesty,  ye  stepped  aside 
As  though  thy  favours  were  accounted  nought. 

If  with  the  right  to  think  —  now  all  his  own  — 
Th'  inquiring  spirit  confidently  strays, 
And  reaches  prematurely  for  the  crown. 
Exulting  in  his  own  triumphant  praise ; 
Should  he  dismiss  with  a  contemptuous  wage 
His  glorious  leader  and  consummate  guide, 
And  a  mere  slave  of  higher  rank  engage 
Near  Art's  high  throne,  indifferent,  to  preside  :  — 
Forgive  his  confidence !     For  even  now 
Perfection's  garland  decorates  your  brow. 
Your  early  blossoms  were  the  first  to  spring 
'Neath  bounteous  Nature's  soul-inspiring  wing; 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  177 

From  you,  the  harvest  chaplet  safely  won, 
Nature  departs,  her  gracious  duties  done. 

Creative  Art,  which  simple  stone  and  clay 

Peoples  with  life,  holds  its  victorious  sway 

Where'er  the  mind  can  pass  it  in  review. 

The  learning  which  discoverers  display. 

Which  they  have  conquered,  is  displayed  for  you. 

The  treasure  which  th'  abstracted  tliinker  hoards 

First  in  your  arms  full  recompense  affords 

When  beauty  plays  with  science  equal  part  — 

The  whole  ennobled  as  a  thing  of  Art. 

When  by  your  side  some  mountain  he  ascends 

And,  as  the  setting  sun  with  even  blends, 

Perceives  the  beauteous  landscape  with  a  start. 

The  more  ye  realise  that  hasty  glance, 

The  more  will  lofty  creatures  of  romance 

Mingle  with  ordered  beauties  of  the  mind 

In  systematic  harmony  combined. 

The  more  that  noble  sentiment  and  thought 

With  higher  strains  of  harmony  are  fraught. 

And  beauty  flowing  in  a  fuller  stream,  — 

So  much  the  more  the  parts  of  Nature's  scheme, 

Which  now  a  mutilated  medley  lie. 

Will  shape  themselves  to  perfect  symmetry ; 

Fairer  will  mysteries  from  darkness  rise. 

The  world  be  richer  which  before  him  hes, 

Broader  the  ocean  upon  which  he  glides. 

Feebler  the  power  chance  alone  decides. 

The  more  his  aims  aspire  to  things  above. 

Less  will  he  think  of  self,  tlie  more  of  love. 

So  by  poetic  instinct  he  is  led 

With  undeterminate,  unconscious  tread. 

Through  purer  forms,  striking  a  finer  key, 

To  beauty  in  its  infinite  degree. 

At  length,  at  the  appointed  goal  of  time 

He  savours  one  more  ecstasy  sublime  — 


178  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

The  generation's  new  poetic  ring  — 

And  to  Truth's  faithful  arms  he  longs  to  cling. 

And  she  herself,  the  gentle  Cyprian  maid, 
Illumined  with  a  crown  of  fairy  light, 
Appears  before  her  grown-up  son,  arrayed 
In  splendour  —  as  Urania  bedight. 
The  readier  she  submitted  to  his  sway, 
The  fairer  he  on  his  departing  way. 
No  less  enchanting  was  the  sweet  surprise 
Of  great  Ulysses'  sou,  where  'neath  his  eyes. 
Mentor's  familiar  hneaments  gave  place 
To  wise  Athene's  heaven-imparted  grace. 

Ye  hold  in  trust  the  honour  of  mankind ; 
Guard  it !     With  yours  'tis  closely  intertwined. 
The  charm  of  poetry  we  rightly  deem 
Part  of  creation's  well-appointed  scheme. 
Let  it  roU  on  and  melt  into  the  sea 
Of  a  divinely  blended  harmony ! 

When  Truth  is  taunted  by  its  proper  age, 
Let  her  appeal  to  the  poetic  page 
And  seek  a  refuge  in  the  Muses'  choir. 
Her  real  claims  more  readily  inspire 
Eespect,  that  they  are  shrouded  o'er  with  grace. 
May  she  in  Song  for  ever  find  a  place. 
And  on  her  dastard  enemies  shall  rain 
Avenging  paeans  in  triumphant  strain. 

Ye  free-born  scions  of  a  mother  free, 

Press  onward  firmly  with  exalted  eyes; 

Perfected  beauty  only  may  we  see. 

And  lesser  crowns  ye  need  not  stoop  to  prize ! 

The  sister  missing  in  this  present  sphere 

Clasped  to  her  mother's  bosom  ye  shall  find ; 


fl  .t.fUl  III . 


■ '  Forth  I  -ucent  afar  to  loam ' ' 

Photogravure  from  a  painting  by  ¥ .  Kirchbach 


POEMS  OF   SCHILLER  179 

What  lofty  souls  as  beautiful  revere 
Must  noble  be,  and  perfect  of  its  kind. 
Poised  high  above  your  life-appointed  span, 
Let  your  ecstatic  pmious  freely  swell ! 
The  dawniug  image  in  your  mirror  scan. 
And  the  approaching  century  foretell. 
By  thousand  paths  and  many  devious  ways 
Through  every  varied  turning  ye  shall  ghde 
To  w^elcome  in  the  fulness  of  her  days 
Harmonious  concord,  your  delight  and  guide  ! 

As  breaks  the  pure  disseminated  ray 
Into  its  seven  gently  blended  tints, 
And  as  the  seven  tinted  rainbow  gay, 
Dissolving,  with  one  white  presentment  glints, 
So  in  a  thousand  magnitudes  will  glow. 
Entrancing,  yet  bewildering  the  sight, 
The  gathering  rills  of  Truth,  which  ever  flow 
Into  the  stream  of  universal  Light. 


THE    PILGRIM. 

All  the  strength  of  youth  enjoying, 
Forth  I  went  afar  to  roam  ; 
Giving  up  the  childish  toying 
Of  my  dear  parental  home. 

All  my  wealth,  on  faith  relying, 
Willingly  I  left  behind  ; 
With  a  pilgrim's  staff  defying 
All  the  world  with  simple  mind. 

For  a  mighty  inspiration 
Urged  me  on  in  tones  sincere :  — 
Saying  "  go,  'tis  thy  vocation 
To  pursue  a  high  career. 


i8o  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

"  If  thou  seest  a  golden  portal 
Enter  it  without  delay  : 
Things  of  earth  are  there  immortal 
And  shall  never  pass  away." 

Morn  and  eve  in  due  procession 
Followed  ;  never  did  I  rest ; 
But  I  sought  in  dark  depression, 
Never  nearer  to  my  quest. 

In  my  way  stood  precipices, 
Torrents  hemmed  my  path  below ; 
Over  rivers  and  abysses 
Crazy  bridges  I  must  throw. 

Then  at  last  I  found  a  river 
Eolling  toward  the  glowing  East, 
And  with  a  confiding  quiver, 
Hurled  myself  upon  its  breast. 

Down  to  the  unbounded  ocean 
The  resistless  waters  roll. 
Tossing  me  with  merry  motion  — 
But  no  nearer  is  my  goal ! 

For  no  bridge  can  span  the  distance ; 
And,  alas  !  the  heavenly  sphere 
Lends  to  earth  no  close  assistance 
And  the  There  is  never  Here  ! 


THE   YOUTH   AT   THE   BROOK. 

By  the  brook  the  youth  was  sitting 
And  a  wreath  of  flowers  wound. 

Watched  the  dancing  petals  flitting 
In  the  ripples  round  and  round. 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  i8i 

So  my  days  are  passing,  passing, 

Ever  restless  like  the  burn, 
And  my  youth  is  fading,  fading. 

As  the  drooping  garlands  turn  ! 

Ask  me  not  why  I  am  mourning 

In  my  budding  youthful  days, 
When  the  bloom  of  Spring  returning 

Hope  and  joy  to  all  conveys. 
Ah!  the  thousand  voices  darting 

From  awakening  Nature  round, 
In  my  secret  bosom  smarting, 

Do  but  grave  a  deeper  wound. 

What  avails  to  me  the  pleasure 

Offered  by  the  fairy  May  ? 
One  I  seek  —  one  only  treasure, 

Ever  near,  yet  far  away. 
Wide  my  arms  are  strained  to  clasp  her, 

Press  the  vision  to  my  breast. 
But,  alas !  they  fail  to  grasp  her, 

And  my  soul  despau-s  of  rest. 

Ah !  descend,  my  sacred  beauty, 

From  thy  proud  embattled  keep ! 
Flowers  it  shall  be  my  duty 

In  thy  fragrant  lap  to  heap. 
Hark !  with  songs  the  grove  is  swelling, 

Purls  the  brook  serene  and  fair. 
Spacious  is  the  lowliest  dwelhng, 

To  a  happy  loving  pair. 


i82  POEMS  OF   SCHILLER 


THE   FAVOUR   OF   THE   MOMENT. 

Thus  it  is  we  meet  again 
In  the  merry  realm  of  song : 
Fitting  garlands  let  us  train 
To  bedeck  the  tuneful  throng. 

But  of  all  the  godlike  host 
Which  deserves  our  tribute  first  ? 
Surely  he  deserves  it  most 
Who  with  pleasure  slakes  our  thirst. 

For  what  boots  it  that  a  soul 
Ceres  breathes  into  the  shrine, 
Or  that  Bacchus  fills  the  bowl 
With  his  rich  empurpled  wine, 

If  the  spark  be  not  from  heaven 
Which  excites  the  sacred  fire, 
If  the  spirit  be  not  riven, 
If  the  heart  do  not  aspire  ? 

Fortune  must  from  heaven  fall 
As  the  mighty  gods  allow ; 
But  the  greatest  chance  of  all 
Is  the  present  moment  —  Novj  ! 

Since  infant  Nature  had  its  birth 

In  distant  ages  far  away, 

The  godliest  triumph  upon  earth 

Is  thought,  and  thought's  enlightening  ray. 

Slowly,  in  the  ages'  course, 
Stones  are  fitted,  tier  on  tier ; 
To  the  soul  with  lightning  force 
Shall  th'  accomplished  work  appear. 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  183 

As  the  sun  on  earth  below 
Fairy-coloured  fabrics  limns. 
As  upon  her  brilliant  bow 
Iris  through  the  ether  skims, 

So  is  every  priceless  boon 
Fleeting  as  the  lightning  wave  ; 
Night  is  nigh,  and  all  too  soon 
It  must  sink  into  the  grave. 


PUNCH    SONG. 

Elements  four 
Bound  in  one  thrall, 
Counterfeit  life, 
Constitute  all. 

Juice  of  the  lemon  — 
Squeeze  it  and  pour  ! 
Sharpness  of  hfe 
Is  the  real  core. 

Now  let  the  sugar, 
Mellow  and  sweet, 
Soften  the  bitter, 
Temper  its  heat. 

Now  for  the  water ! 
Fill  up  the  bowl. 
Water  well  measured 
Mixes  the  whole. 

Dashes  of  spirit 
It  will  require : 
Nothing  like  spirit 
Life  to  inspire ! 


i84  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

Ere  it  evaporates 
Quaff  it  in  haste  ! 
Only  when  strong 
It  refreshes  the  taste. 


TO    MY    FRIENDS. 

'Tis  true,  dear  friends  —  and  no  one  will  deny  - 
That  fairer  times  than  ours  have  long  gone  by ! 
A  nobler  people  here  has  had  its  birth, 
As  —  did  a  jealous  history  not  teach  — 
A  thousand  stones  would  testify  in  speech, 
Hewed  from  the  very  bosom  of  the  earth. 
But  those  majestic  times  have  passed  away, 
And  we  remain  —  the  present  day  is  ours. 
That  favoured  race  has  mouldered  in  decay, 
And  we  who  live  must  exercise  our  powers. 

Happier  spheres  there  are  in  which  to  dwell. 
My  friends,  as  travellers  for  ever  tell, 
Than  this  our  own  perplexed  and  weary  land. 
But  if  by  Nature  we  are  shorn  of  much, 
At  least  our  hearts  are  quickened  by  the  touch 
Of  Art  bestowed  with  no  reluctant  hand. 
'Tis  true,  from  us  the  laurel  may  recoil, 
The  myrtle  shrink  before  our  Winter's  grip, 
But  merry  vines  spring  freely  from  the  soil 
To  deck  our  brows  with  goodly  fellowship. 

In  the  great  life  without  the  tumults  swell 
Where  continents  tlieir  treasures  buy  and  sell 
Along  the  Thames,  the  market  of  the  world. 
All  that  is  costly  there  you  may  behold, 
And  ships  arriving  with  their  canvas  furled, 
And  ruling  everywhere  —  the  God  of  Gold. 


POEMS  OF   SCHILLER  185 

Not  upon  turbid  and  torrential  streams 
The  mirrored  image  of  the  sunshine  plays  ; 
But  on  the  silent  brook  with  gentle  beams 
In  friendly  warmth  twinkle  the  glancing  rays. 


More  dignified  than  in  our  Northern  lands 
The  beggar  at  the  "  Angel  Portal "  stands, 
For  what  he  looks  on  is  —  Eternal  Rome ! 
Essence  of  beauty  floats  upon  the  air, 
And  Peter's  great  incomparable  dome 
To  heaven  within  a  heaven  may  compare. 
Yet  Rome  with  all  her  glory  and  her  pride 
Is  but  the  sepulchre  of  days  gone  by : 
Only  in  healthy  plants  can  life  abide, 
Such  as  can  sip  the  moments  as  they  fly. 

Greater  events  and  things  there  may  have  been 

Than  in  this  narrow  life  of  ours  are  seen : 

New !  —  why,  beneath  the  sun  is  nothing  new  ! 

All  that  is  worthiest  of  every  age 

Is  duly  mustered  on  this  worldly  stage, 

And  passed  deliberately  in  review. 

The  life  of  yesterday  recurs  to-day. 

And  Phantasy  alone  is  ever  young : 

That  only  never  suffers  from  decay 

Which  into  actual  being  never  sprung. 


PUNCH    SONG. 

TO    BE    SUNG    IN    THE    NOKTH. 

On  the  slopes  of  lofty  mountains 
Where  the  long-drawn  summers  shine. 
By  the  generous  radiance  quickened. 
Nature  bears  the  golden  vine. 


i86  POEMS  OF   SCHILLER 

Her  mysterious  operations 
Are  concealed  from  mortal  sight, 
Her  intention  is  unfathomed, 
And  inscrutable  her  might. 

Sparkhng  hke  a  son  of  morning, 
Flashing  like  a  fiery  stream, 
From  the  cask  the  liquor  rushes 
Crystal  clear,  with  ruddy  gleam. 

It  rejoices  all  the  senses. 
And  the  timid  heart  inspires ; 
Calm  and  soothing  hopes  induces, 
Strengthens  life  with  new  desires. 

In  our  Northern  clime  the  sunbeams 
Spiritless  and  slanting  lie  ; 
Leaves  indeed  they  tinge  with  colour. 
But  the  fruit  they  cannot  dye. 

Yet  the  North  must  live  —  and  living, 
Life  with  pleasure  must  combine ; 
How  then  solve  the  knotty  problem, 
Grapeless,  to  dispose  of  wine  ? 

Pale  and  feeble  is  the  liquor 
We  laboriously  prepare ; 
That  which  Nature's  soul  provideth 
Sparkles  ever  bright  and  fair. 

Let  us  gaily  drain  the  goblet, 
Even  though  the  wine  be  sad ; 
Art  itself,  which  came  from  heaven, 
Once  an  earthly  being  had. 

All  the  majesty  of  power 
Is  enlisted  on  her  side ; 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  187 

With  her  own  creative  spirit 
She  can  new  from  old  provide. 


By  her  overwhelming  forces 
Elements  apart  are  riven, 
And  her  artificial  altar 
Emulates  the  light  of  heaven. 

To  the  happy  favoured  islands 
Far  away,  the  bark  she  steers, 
And  the  fruits  of  Southern  regions 
Carries  to  our  Northern  spheres. 

Let  us  see  an  allegory 
In  this  rich,  inspiring  juice :  — 
Given  will,  and  given  power, 
What  can  mortal  not  produce  ? 


A   TEOOPEE'S   SONG. 

To  horse  with  you,  comrades ;  saddle  and  mount ! 

To  the  field  and  to  freedom  away ! 

To  the  field  where  a  hero  is  still  of  account, 

And  the  valorous  still  has  his  day. 

On  nobody  else  can  a  man  rely, 

He  must  trust  to  himself  to  do  or  die. 


From  the  world  true  freedom  has  disappeared, 

But  masters  and  slaves  remain. 

With  guile  and  deceit  it  is  domineered 

By  men  of  inferior  strain. 

Who  looks  death  straight  in  the  face,  is  free  — 

The  warrior  bold  —  and  none  but  he  ! 


i88  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

The  troubles  of  life  he  hurls  aside ; 

By  fears  aud  cares  unvexed, 

Right  on  his  fate  content  to  ride, 

If  nut  one  day,  on  the  next ; 

And  if  on  the  next  —  why,  the  present  employ, 

And  what  remains  of  our  time  enjoy. 


His  lot  by  heaven  is  gilded  with  mirth, 

He  need  not  struggle  and  toil ; 

The  servitor  probes  in  the  bowels  of  earth 

And  labours  in  search  of  spoil. 

He  shovels,  as  long  as  he  lives,  for  pelf. 

And  ends  by  digging  a  grave  for  himself. 


The  trooper  and  his  redoubtable  horse 

A  terrible  glamour  invests. 

While  the  wedding  banquet  pursues  its  course, 

They  come  as  unbidden  guests. 

His  wooing  is  short,  not  with  gold  he  charms, 

But  his  love  he  imposes  by  force  of  arms. 

Why  is  the  maiden  so  pale  and  sad  ? 

No  questions  !     Let  it  pass  ! 

No  regular  home  has  he  ever  had 

For  the  love  of  an  honest  lass. 

His  wandering  lot  gives  no  repose, 

And  his  heart  is  intact  wheresoever  he  goes. 


Then,  boot  and  saddle,  my  hearties !     Come, 

Your  breasts  to  the  battle  square 

While  your  youthful  forces  bubble  and  hum 

And  the  fighting  spirit  is  there ! 

Think  not  to  compass  a  good  old  age, 

Long  life  is  none  of  your  heritage. 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  189 


THE   FEAST   OF   VICTORY. 

Fallen  were  the  walls  of  Troy, 
Priam's  town  in  ashes  lay  ; 
And  the  victor  Greeks  with  joy 
Bearing  all  their  spoils  away, 
To  the  stately  vessels  wound 
On  the  Hellespontine  shore, 
Happy  people,  homeward  bound 
To  their  glorious  Greece  once  more. 

Into  songs  of  triumph  break ! 

Westward  we  will  plough  the  foam. 

Turn  the  ships,  and  let  them  take 

Their  rejoicing  course  for  home. 

And  in  long  despondent  row, 
Mournful,  sat  the  Trojan  fair ; 
Beat  their  breasts  in  bitter  woe, 
Pale,  and  with  dishevelled  hair. 
With  the  sounds  of  revelry 
Mingled  their  dejected  song 
As  they  told  with  flowing  eye 
Of  their  sacred  country's  wrong. 
"  Fare  thee  well,  beloved  soil. 
And  the  homes  where  we  were  bred ! 
After  strangers  we  must  toil  — 
Ah  !  how  happy  are  the  dead  !  " 

To  the  gods  who  dwell  on  high 
See  how  Calchas'  altar  smokes ; 
Pallas,  who  can  vivify 
Towns,  or  raze  them,  he  invokes. 
Neptune  too,  whose  billows  fling 
Stormy  girdles  round  the  land, 
Zeus,  the  terrifying  King, 
With  the  aegis  in  his  hand. 


190  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

Now  the  long-drawn  strife  is  past, 
Patient  force  has  won  its  prize  ; 
Time  has  worked  its  will  at  last, 
And  the  city  captive  lies. 

Atreus'  son,  the  army's  lord. 
Counted  up  the  dismal  tale 
Of  the  peoples  who  had  poured 
Erst  into  Scamander's  vale. 
Sorrow  o'er  his  visage  spread. 
Drooped  his  kingly  eye  with  grief. 
For  of  those  whom  once  he  led 
Few  remained  around  their  chief. 
Break,  then,  into  joyful  song, 
Ye  who  cherish  thoughts  of  home, 
Ye  who  still  are  hlithe  and  strong! 
For,  alas !  not  all  may  come. 

"  Nor  all  those  who  safe  return 
Shall  enjoy  their  native  land ; 
Where  their  own  dear  altars  burn 
May  be  clenched  the  murderer's  hand. 
Spared  in  battle,  many  a  one 
Lives  to  fall  by  felon's  stroke." 
—  Thus  Ulysses'  warning  tone. 
Prompted  by  Athene,  spoke. 
Happy  he  whose  spouse  is  true, 
Keeps  his  household  chaste  and  pure  ; 
Woman  longs  for  something  new, 
And  her  faith  is  never  sure. 

And  Atrides  swells  with  pride 
As  he  marks  his  captive's  charms. 
Presses  closer  to  her  side, 
Clasps  her  in  his  favoured  arms. 
Evil  deeds  cannot  prevail, 
Vengeance  dogs  each  grave  offence, 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  19J 

Gods  in  heaven  never  fail 
Even  justice  to  dispense. 

Evil  must  to  evil  lead, 

Zeus  with  his  avenging  hand 

Punishes  with  lightning  speed 

The  inhospitable  band. 

"Favoured  mortal  well  may  vie," 

Cries  O'ileus'  valiant  son, 
"  To  extol  the  gods  on  high, 
Seated  on  their  heavenly  throne ! 
Fortune's  gifts  at  random  pour, 
Here  and  there  by  chance  they  rain  ; 
For  Patroclus  is  no  more. 
While  Thersites  lives  again. 

Since,  then.  Fortune's  careless  wheel 

Heedlessly  her  favours  gives. 

He  may  truly  favoured  feel 

Who  a  lucky  lot  receives. 

"  War  sweeps  all  the  best  away  ! 
Where,  my  breather,  Greeks  are  met, 
Never  shall  thy  name  decay. 
None  thy  powers  shall  forget. 
When  the  Grecian  navies  burned, 
Thine  the  arm  which  brought  relief. 
Yet  the  glorious  prize  was  earned 
By  yon  sly,  accomplished  thief. 

Gently  may  thine  ashes  rest  ! 

Never  foe  thy  might  compelled, 

Anger  sweeps  away  the  best, 

Ajax  'twas  who  Ajax  felled." 

There  it  was  that  for  his  sire 
Pyrrhus  poured  the  golden  wine ; 
"  Could  I  to  all  lots  aspire, 
Father,  I  would  covet  thine. 


192  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

'Mid  the  gifts  of  earthly  life 
None  there  is  so  great  as  fame ; 
When  the  body  falls  in  strife, 
Still  abides  the  glorious  name. 
Thy  renown,  by  poets  penned, 
Hero,  never  shall  decay  : 
True,  this  earthly  life  may  end. 
But  the  dead  remain  for  aye." 

"  Lest  the  bards  in  duty  fail, 
Lest  the  vanquished  'scape  their  lays, 
I,"  quoth  Diomed,  "  my  tale 
Testify  in  Hector's  praise  ! 
Fighting  valiantly,  he  fell 
For  his  sacred  altar's  flame  : 
If  the  victor's  fame  excel, 
Still  was  his  the  nobler  aim ! 

For  his  hearth  and  home  he  died, 
Verily  his  people's  shield. 
Till  his  direst  foes  decide 
Honour  to  his  name  to  yield." 

And  now,  Nestor,  jolly  soul. 
Who  three  generations  saw. 
Hands  the  leaf-embowered  bowl 
To  the  weeping  Hecuba : 
"  Drink  of  tliis  :  it  will  restore, 
And  forget  thy  grievous  smart ; 
Wonderful  is  Bacchus'  power 
To  relieve  a  tortured  heart. 
Drink  of  this  ;  it  will  restore, 
And  forget  thy  grievous  smart ; 
Wonderful  is  Bacchus'  power 
To  relieve  a  tortured  heart. 

"  Even  Niobe,  who  fell 
To  the  wrath  of  Heaven  a  prey, 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  193 

Could  her  sufferings  dispel. 
Tasting  of  the  fruity  spray. 
While  the  everlasting  stream 
To  the  lips  in  ardour  leaps, 
Sorrow  flies  —  is  but  a  dream, 
Borne  away  in  Lethe's  deeps  ! 

Wliile  the  foaming,  living  stream 

To  the  lips  in  ardour  leaps, 

Sorrow  flies  —  is  but  a  dream, 

Borne  away  in  Lethe's  deeps !" 

Godlike,  with  transfigured  brow, 
See  the  prophetess  arise  ! 
As  she  mounts  the  vessel's  prow, 
Smoking  homesteads  meet  her  eyes :  — 
"  Life  is  but  a  smokelike  veil ! 
As  the  wreathing  pillars  wane, 
Earthly  glories  surely  fail, 
And  the  gods  alone  remain. 

Care  attends  the  horseman's  hand, 

Round  the  ship  misfortunes  weigh : 

Not  to-morrow  we  command, 

Therefore  hve  we  for  to-dav  ! " 


THE   LAMENT    OF    CERES. 

Is  this  Spring  upon  the  scene  ? 
Has  the  earth  grown  young  again  ? 
Sunlit  hills  are  clothed  with  green. 
Loosened  is  the  ice-bound  chain. 
Mirrored  in  the  azure  rill, 
Smile  serene  and  cloudless  skies; 
Zephyr's  breath  has  lost  its  chill, 
Dainty  flowerets  ope  their  eyes. 
Warbling  notes  the  bushes  cheer, 
Cries  the  nymph  in  dulcet  key  ; 


194  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

All  the  blossoms  reappear, 

But  thy  daughter,  where  is  she  ? 

By  what  long  and  devious  ways 
Have  I  sought  her  darling  trace ! 
Titan,  all  thy  piercing  rays 
Have  assisted  in  the  chase. 
Yet  not  one  has  cast  its  eye 
On  the  form  I  love  so  well ; 
Daylight,  which  should  all  descry, 
Fais  my  dimness  to  dispel. 
Has  Zeus  seized  her  for  his  own  ? 
Or,  to  her  fair  charms  a  slave, 
Has  grim  Pluto  whirled  her  down 
By  black  Orcus'  dreadful  wave  ? 

Who  upon  that  dismal  strand 
My  misfortunes  will  make  known  ? 
Oft  the  vessel  leaves  the  land, 
But  it  bears  the  dead  alone ! 
Ne'er  did  happy  eye  behold 
Light  on  yonder  plains  forlorn ; 
And  so  long  as  Styx  has  rolled, 
Living  thing  it  ne'er  has  borne. 
Thither  many  a  path  descends, 
Never  one  returns  above ; 
None  those  bitter  tears  commends 
To  the  Mother's  anxious  love. 

Mothers  sprung  of  Pyrrha's  race, 
Mortal,  such  indeed  may  brave 
Hades,  and  their  darlings  trace 
Past  the  terrors  of  the  grave. 
Only  Jove's  immortal  heirs 
May  not  see  that  gloomy  land  ; 
Blest  are  they  whom  Fate  forbears 
To  oppress  with  vengeful  hand. 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  195 

Plunge  me  in  the  night  of  nights 
Far  from  Heaven's  Inight  domain ; 
Reck  not  of  the  goddess'  rights, 
For  they  mean  a  mother's  pain. 

Wliere  she  sat  in  joyless  state 
On  her  spouse's  gloomy  throne, 
There  did  I,  a  supphant,  wait 
'Mid  the  silent  shades,  unknown. 
Ah  !  her  eye  with  tearful  trace 
Strains  through  those  unlighted  halls, 
Wanders  vaguely  into  space, 
Never  on  her  mother  falls, 
Till  at  length  lier  love  discerns  — 
To  each  other's  breasts  they  fly ! 
Orcus'  self  with  pity  yearns, 
Marks  with  sympathetic  sigh. 

Empty  hope  !     Unheeded  cry  ! 
In  their  order,  calm  and  sure. 
Steadily  the  days  roll  by  ; 
Jove's  decrees  shall  aye  endure. 
From  tliat  dark  forbidding  sight 
Turns  he  his  anointed  head  ; 
Once  euwrapt  in  yonder  night, 
She  is  distant  as  the  dead  — 
Till  that  darkling  stream  shall  glow 
'Neath  Aurora's  roseate  spell ; 
Till  fair  Iris  strains  her  bow 
Eight  athwart  the  realms  of  Hell. 

Surely,  something  must  remain  ! 
Some  convincing  proof  that  space 
Ileal  love  can  not  restrain. 
Of  her  hand  some  gentle  trace  ! 
Does  no  love-knot  wind  its  thread 
Eound  the  mother  and  her  own  ? 


196  POEMS  OF   SCHILLER 

'Twixt  the  living  and  the  dead 
Has  no  bond  of  union  grown  ? 
Not  too  deeply  must  I  sigh, 
Still  she  bides  within  my  reach ; 
For  the  gods  who  dwell  on  liigh 
Grant  at  least  a  common  speech ! 

When  Spring's  children  pass  away, 
When  before  the  Northern  air 
Leaf  and  floweret  decay, 
Stands  the  tree  bereft  and  bare ; 
Then  the  germs  of  life  I  shake 
From  Vertumnus'  bounteous  horn. 
Praying  Styx  the  seed  to  take 
And  return  the  golden  corn. 
Sad,  I  hide  it  in  the  ground, 
Lay  it  on  my  darling's  breast, 
That  a  language  it  may  found 
And  my  love  and  grief  attest. 

When  the  Hours  in  rhythmic  dance 
Bring  the  Spring-time  in  their  train, 
Sunshine  will  dispel  the  trance, 
What  was  dead  will  rise  again. 
Germs  concealed  from  human  eye 
Li  the  chilly  womb  of  Earth, 
'Neath  the  genial,  tinted  sky 
Eevel  in  a  second  birth. 
Heavenward  as  the  stem  ascends, 
So  the  root  in  darkness  hides ; 
Styx  with  ethers  justly  blends. 
Night  with  day  its  care  divides. 

For  the  attributes  they  share 
Equally  of  life  and  death  ; 
From  Cocytus'  banks  they  bear 
Welcome  tones  with  gentle  breath. 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  197 

Though  a  prisoner  she  be 
In  the  dreary  depths  below, 
Spring's  young  blossoms  call  to  me, 
And  this  healing  balm  bestow  :  — 
"  Tell  that  where  the  shadows  reign. 
Where  no  golden  sunbeams  thrill. 
Love  its  might  can  yet  maintain. 
Loving  hearts  are  faithful  still." 

Hail,  ye  children  of  the  field, 
Children  born  of  pastures  new  ! 
Your  auspicious  cup  shall  yield 
Draughts  of  nectar's  purest  dew. 
In  the  sunshine  ye  shall  play. 
Bathed  in  Iris'  fairest  beams ; 
And  your  leaves  I  will  array 
In  Aurora's  golden  gleams. 
Whether  Spring  or  Autumn  reign. 
Cheering  glow,  or  withered  leaf, 
Let  no  tender  heart  disdain 
Or  my  pleasure  or  my  grief. 


THE  ELEUSINIAN  FESTIVAL. 

Fashion  the  ears  in  a  chaplet  of  gold 

Deftly  commingled  with  corn-flowers  blue ! 

The  Queen  is  approaching  ;  her  presence  behold  1 

And  every  eye  may  rejoice  at  the  view. 

She  comes  all  inordinate  habits  to  tame, 

And  man  with  his  fellow  in  peace  to  compose. 

The  wandering  nomads  of  earth  to  reclaim. 

And  the  peaceable  comforts  of  home  to  disclose. 

In  the  rocky  clefts  concealed 
Humble  Troglodytes  lie  low  : 


198  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

Nomad  races  let  the  field 

Perish,  as  they  erraut  go. 

Armed  with  deadly  bow  and  spear, 

Strides  the  hunter  through  the  laud. 

Woe  to  strangers  who  appear, 

Cast  upon  that  fateful  strand ! 

Ceres  visited  that  shore, 
Vainly  seeking  for  her  child  ; 
But  a  dreary  face  it  bore, 
And  the  land  was  stern  and  wild. 
Ne'er  a  roof  its  refuge  gave 
As  in  anxious  quest  she  trod. 
And  no  temple's  architrave 
Testified  an  honoured  god. 

No  refreshing  corn  or  fruit 
Her  distressing  need  await. 
Human  bones  the  fanes  pollute. 
And  the  altars  violate. 
Wheresoe'er  her  footsteps  turned 
Nought  but  sorrow  could  she  scan. 
And  her  lofty  spirit  burned, 
Grieving  for  the  fall  of  man. 

Can  this,  then,  be  man  indeed. 
Fashioned  on  our  godlike  lines  ? 
This  the  well  appointed  breed 
Upon  which  Olympus  shines  ? 
Did  he  not  in  trust  receive 
Earth  for  his  appointed  home  ? 
Is  this  all  he  can  achieve  — 
Desolate,  abroad  to  roam  ? 

Will  no  god  his  pity  lend  ? 
None  of  the  celestial  choir 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  199 

An  almighty  arm  extend 

To  uplift  him  from  the  mire  ? 

True,  high  Heaven  little  heeds, 

Looking  on  terrestrial  woe, 

But  my  anguished  spirit  bleeds         ^ 

Human  grief  and  pain  to  know. 

And,  that  men  be  men  indeed, 
All  their  troubles  let  them  share 
With  their  mother  Earth,  and  plead 
For  her  kind  maternal  care  ; 
Eeverence  th'  eternal  laws 
Which  control  the  flight  of  time, 
And  the  moon,  who  knows  no  pause, 
In  its  orbit's  course  subhme. 

Soft  she  sweeps  the  mists  aside 
Which  her  silver  glory  shroud, 
And  in  all  her  heavenly  pride 
Bursts  upon  th'  uncultured  crowd. 
All  the  guzzliug  horde  is  there, 
Bevelling  without  control, 
And  the  sacrifice  they  bear 
In  a  foul  blood-reeking  bowl. 

Horror-struck,  she  turns  away 
From  the  bloody,  sickening  sight : 
Tiger-feasts  no  charm  convey 
To  a  godlike  appetite. 
Fairer  gifts  a  god  beseem  — 
Fruits  which  Nature's  Autumn  yields  ; 
Those  who  dwell  on  high  esteem 
Offerings  from  the  simple  fields. 

And  she  tears  the  murderous  shaft 
From  the  hunter's  clumsy  hand. 


200  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

And  with  its  bloodthirsty  haft 
Graves  a  furrow  in  the  sand. 
Then  she  gathers  from  her  crown 
Just  one  germ-containing  cell ; 
In  the  furrow  lays  it  down 
Into  generous  growth  to  swell, 

Till,  adorned  with  blades  of  green, 
All  the  earth  transfigured  hes, 
Nodding  with  a  golden  sheen 
Like  a  wood  before  her  eyes. 
And  she  blessed  the  smiling  Earth 
As  the  earhest  sheaves  she  tied, 
Chose  the  landmark  as  her  hearth, 
And  in  intercession  cried  : 

"  Father  Zeus,  who  dwell'st  in  space, 
Ruler  of  the  gods  on  high, 
Give  a  token  that  thy  gi-ace 
On  this  offering  will  he ! 
On  these  people  pitying  glance. 
People  who  ignore  thy  name  ; 
Wake  them  from  their  grievous  trance 
That  their  god  they  may  acclaim  !  " 

And  his  sister's  earnest  prayer 
Eose  to  Zeus  enthroned  on  high. 
Crashed  his  thunders  through  the  air, 
Jagged  lightnings  tore  the  sky. 
Whirhng  round  the  altar  roared 
Angry  crackling  tongues  of  fire, 
And  above  the  eagle  soared 
In  its  stately  circhng  spire. 

Then  prone  at  the  feet  of  that  ruler  divine 
The  rapturous  crowds  in  an  ecstasy  throng. 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  201 

And  Humanity's  sentiments  tend  to  refine 
The  barbarous  spirits  untutored  so  long. 
Their  murderous  weapons  behind  them  are  cast, 
Their  darkened  perception  grows  clear  and  serene, 
And  the  heavenly  lesson  they  welcome  at  last 
From  the  eloquent  hps  of  the  glorious  Queen. 

Then  the  Deities  descend, 
Each  from  his  exalted  throne ; 
Themis  marks  the  furrows'  end, 
And  directs  the  hmit-stone. 
Under  her  impartial  hand 
Every  man  receives  his  share. 
And  the  bidden  Stygian  band 
Witness  to  her  justice  bear. 

And  the  godlike  smith  behold, 
Son  of  Zeus,  whose  facile  skill 
Bronze  or  plastic  clay  can  mould 
Slaves  to  his  artistic  will. 
Deft  his  tongs  and  pincers  clang, 
Art  his  bellows  doth  endow  :  — 
From  his  potent  hammer  sprang 
First  the  civihsing  plough. 

And  in  front  with  ponderous  spear 
See  !  Minerva  takes  her  post, 
Speaks  in  accents  trumpet-clear 
And  arrays  the  godlike  host. 
Hers  it  is  to  found  and  build, 
Hers  protection  to  afford, 
Scattered  worlds  may  be  instilled. 
Thanks  to  her,  with  warm  accord. 

And  the  heavenly  band  she  leads 
Through  the  wide-extended  plam  ; 


202  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

Landmarks,  wlieresoe'er  she  treads, 
Marking  boundaries,  remain. 
And  her  measured  links  she  throws 
Eouud  the  emerald-capped  liill ; 
And  the  torrent,  as  it  flows. 
Learns  an  ordered  bed  to  fill. 

Nymphs  and  Oreads,  who  pursue 
Artemis  the  bold  and  swift, 
Form  a  merry  retinue 
As  their  hunting  spears  they  lift. 
All  advance  to  lend  their  aid, 
And  the  joyful  tumult  swell. 
As  the  pine-trees'  darksome  glade 
With  their  crashing  tools  they  fell. 

Then  from  green  and  sedgy  deeps 
Kises  the  weed-bearing  god. 
And  his  raft  complaining  creeps 
Where  he  marks  the  goddess  nod. 
Now  the  Hours  in  light  attire 
Their  accustomed  task  attend, 
And  the  modest  trunks  acquire 
Shape,  and  to  persuasion  bend. 

And  the  Sea-God  too  appears  — 
With  his  trident's  awful  thrust, 
Granite  masses  he  uptears 
From  the  Earth's  tenacious  crust; 
Swings  them  in  his  mighty  fist 
Like  some  trifling  airy  ball, 
And,  with  Hermes  to  assist. 
Crowns  the  battlemented  wall  ^ 

Then  Apollo's  golden  strains 
Conjure  Harmony  sublime ; 

1/.  e.,  the  Wall  ofTroy. 


POEMS   OF   SCHILLER  203 

Music  weaves  its  subtle  chains, 
True  in  melody  and  time. 
And  the  Muses  join,  and  sing 
With  their  measured  ninefold  tone, 
Till,  entranced,  together  spring. 
Unassisted,  stone  and  stone.^ 

Cybele  the  wide-winged  gate 
Fashions  with  experienced  hand, 
Cunning  locks  does  she  create. 
Bolts  and  bars  by  her  are  planned. 
Quickly  by  immortal  aid 
Finished  is  the  wondrous  pile ; 
Festal  scenes  its  walls  pervade. 
And  with  pomp  its  temples  smile. 

And  anon  the  godlike  Queen  ^ 
With  a  myrtle  crown  proceeds, 
And  the  youth  of  fairest  mien 
To  the  fairest  damsel  leads. 
Venus  and  her  darling  boy 
Deck  the  first  assorted  pair, 
And  the  gods  with  bounties  cloy 
These  first  objects  of  their  care. 

On  the  new-fledged  burghers  press 
To  the  hospitable  gate, 
While  celestial  bodies  bless 
And  confirm  their  proud  estate. 
Ceres  at  Zeus'  altar  tends 
And  the  priestly  office  plies. 
Hands  in  intercession  bends, 
And  to  all  the  people  cries : 

"  Freedom  seek  the  beasts  of  prey, 
Free  th'  Immortals  dwell  in  space ; 
1  An  allusion  to  the  building  of  Thebes.  ^  j.  g.^  Juno. 


204  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

Be  their  passions  what  they  may, 
Nature  will  assert  its  place. 
But  a  man  can  only  thrive 
By  rehance  on  his  kind  ; 
He  must  live  as  others  live 
Strength  and  liherty  to  find," 

Fashion  the  ears  in  a  chaplet  of  gold 

Deftly  commingled  with  corn-flowers  blue ! 

The  Queen  is  approaching ;  her  presence  behold  ! 

And  every  eye  may  rejoice  at  the  view. 

'Tis  she  who  has  taught  us  our  homesteads  to  prize, 

And  she  who  has  reconciled  man  with  his  mate ; 

To  her  let  our  songs  in  festivity  rise  — 

The  beautiful  mother,  indulgent  and  great. 


THE   RING   OF   POLYCRATES. 

Upon  the  battlements  he  stood, 
Regarding  in  complacent  mood 

Samos,  o'er  which  he  ruled  in  state. 
"  All  this  is  subject  to  my  sway," 
To  Egypt's  king  he  'gan  to  say ; 
"  Confess  that  I  am  fortunate." 

"  Of  heavenly  favours  great  thy  share  ! 
And  those  who  once  thine  equals  were 

Now  recognise  thy  sceptre's  might. 
But  one  there  lives  t'avenge  them  all ; 
Thee  fortunate  I  can  not  call 

While  he  keeps  guard  in  angry  spite." 

Ere  from  his  lips  the  words  had  died. 
Subservient  at  the  Tyrant's  side, 
A  herald  from  Miletus  bows : 


POEMS  OF   SCHILLER  205 

"  Let  sacrificial  fumes  ascend, 
And  joyous  leaves  of  laurel  blend, 
My  lord,  around  thy  radiant  brow. 

"  Thy  foe  lies  stricken  by  a  spear, 
And  Polydorus  sent  nie  here  — 

Thy  faithful  chief  —  the  news  to  tell." 
So  speaking  from  a  bowl  he  drew, 
And  offered  to  their  shudd'ring  view, 

A  bloody  head  they  both  knew  well. 

The  king  recoiled  with  horror  struck  : 
"  I  warn  thee  still,  beware  of  luck, 

And,"  he  pursued  with  anxious  glance, 
"  Remember  that  thy  squadron  braves 
The  fickle  winds  and  treacherous  waves. 
Of  loss  by  storm  how  great  the  chance ! " 

And  scarcely  had  he  said  the  word 
Ere  sounds  of  revelry  were  heard, 

And  cheering  from  the  harbour  borne. 
Eich  laden  from  a  foreign  land. 
To  the  familiar  native  strand 

The  many-masted  ships  return. 

Astonished  seems  the  royal  guest : 
"  Thy  luck  to-day  is  manifest. 

Yet  tremble  for  its  constancy. 
The  Cretan  hosts  in  armed  swarms 
Threaten  thy  land  with  war's  alarms, 

And  even  now  their  van  is  nish." 


^&^ 


And  ere  the  words  had  'scaped  his  Hps, 
Signals  of  joy  pervade  the  ships. 
And  shouts  of  "  Victory  "  ascend : 
"  Delivered  are  we  from  the  foe. 


2o6  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

The  storm  has  laid  the  Cretans  low. 
Triumph  !     The  war  is  at  an  end." 

Amazed,  his  guest  the  tidings  hears. 
"  Truly,  thy  fortune  great  appears  ! 

Yet  still  I  tremble  for  thy  joy. 
I  fear  the  jealous  wrath  of  Heaven, 
YoT  never  yet  to  man  was  given 

Pure  happiness  without  alloy. 

"  I  also  have  been  fortunate ; 
Each  stroke  of  my  despotic  state 

Has  met  with  heav'uly  favour  kmd. 
But  when  I  saw  my  chosen  heir 
God-stricken,  I  became  aware 

That  fortune  leaves  a  debt  behind. 

"  Wouldst  thou  immunity  from  grief  ? 
Then  pray  the  gods,  in  kind  relief. 

To  shade  thy  luck  with  sorrow's  tone. 
No  man  true  happiness  has  gained 
On  whom  the  generous  gods  have  rained 

Untempered  benefits  alone. 

"And  if  the  gods  thy  prayer  deny, 
Upon  a  friend's  advice  rely. 

And  call  misfortune  to  thy  side. 
Whate'er  thine  heart  accounts  most  dear 
Amidst  thy  treasures,  bring  it  here 

And  hurl  it  into  yonder  tide." 

Oppressed  with  fear,  replies  his  host : 
"  Of  all  the  wealth  our  isle  can  boast. 

This  ring  in  first  esteem  I  keep. 
An  this  can  calm  the  Furies'  rage, 
The  peril  of  my  luck  assuage, 

I  here  consign  it  to  the  deep." 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  207 

And  as  the  morrow's  daylight  broke. 
Thus  to  the  Prince  a  fisher  spoke, 

With  pleasure  sparkling  in  his  eyes : 
"  My  lord,  this  noble  fish  behold  ! 
Never  its  like  did  net  enfold. 

To  thee  I  humbly  give  my  prize." 

But  when  the  cook  his  knife  applied, 
In  loud  astonishment  he  cried, 

And  ran  the  marvel  to  disclose. 
«  The  ring.  Sire,  which  thou  used  to  wear 
I  found  in  yonder  fish :  'tis  here. 

Truly,  thy  luck  no  hmit  knows." 

Exclaims  the  horror-stricken  guest : 
"  With  thee  no  longer  can  I  rest, 
Thy  friendship  I  no  longer  own. 
The  gods,  'tis  clear,  thy  death  design  ; 
I  must  away,  or  hazard  mine." 
He  spoke,  embarked,  and  straight  was  gone. 


CASSANDRA. 

MiKTH  through  Trojan  halls  was  ringing 

Ere  succumbed  the  fortress  bold  ; 
Hymns  of  joy  the  bards  are  singing 

To  the  harpists'  strings  of  gold. 
Men  their  weapons  are  forsaking, 

Thoughts  of  battle  lay  aside, 
Peleus'  mighty  son  is  taking 

Priam's  daughter  for  his  bride. 

Laurel  every  brow  is  binding, 
And  the  crowd  in  surging  bands 

To  the  holy  fanes  is  winding 

Where  the  Thymbrian  altar  stands. 


2o8  POEMS   OF  SCHILLER 

Vaguely  humming,  wildly  heaving, 
Sweeps  the  Bacchanalian  host 

Down  the  lanes  and  alleys,  leaving 
One  sad  heart  in  sorrow  lost. 

Joyless  'mid  the  joy  prevailing, 

Silent,  did  Cassandra  rove, 
And  from  human  presence  quailing. 

Sought  Apollo's  laurel  grove. 
In  the  forest's  dark  recesses 

Found  the  Priestess  a  retreat. 
Tore  the  fillet  from  her  tresses. 

Crushed  it  grimly  'neath  her  feet. 

"  Happiness  in  ample  measure 

To  all  other  hearts  is  weighed ; 
My  old  parents  find  new  pleasure, 

Gay  my  sister  stands  arrayed. 
But  o'er  me  there  ever  lowers 

Gloom,  all  sweet  illusion  flies, 
And  I  see  these  hoary  towers 

Crumble  with  prophetic  eyes. 


(( 


I  can  see  a  torchlight  glowing, 

But  'tis  not  in  Hymen's  hand 
Up  to  heaven  I  see  it  growing, 

But  no  sacrificial  brand. 
Feasts  I  see  in  preparation, 

Then  th'  approaching  god  I  feel, 
And  with  horrid  fascination 

Mark  the  blows  he  grieves  to  deal. 


ti' 


"  And  they  mock  my  bitter  anguish, 
And  they  cavil  at  my  grief. 
All  alone  my  heart  must  languish, 
Solitude  my  one  relief. 


POEMS  OF   SCHILLER  209 

By  no  glad  acquaintance  greeted, 

Scorned  by  every  joyous  band, 
Truly,  I  am  sore  entreated, 

Harsh  Apollo,  by  thine  hand. 

"  Why  should  I  —  ah  !  cruel  mission  — 

Thy  dark  oracles  expound, 
And  unfold  my  prescient  vision 

To  a  town  in  darkness  bound  ? 
Why  should  I  see  prematurely 

Evils  I  can  not  allay  ? 
Fate's  decrees  are  fashioned  surely, 

What  we  fear  we  can  not  stay. 

«  Is  it  well,  impending  terror 

To  expose,  the  veil  to  raise  ? 
Human  hfe  is  nought  but  error. 

Knowledge  only  Death  conveys. 
Take,  ah  !  take  this  penetration 

From  my  eyes  which  probe  too  deep. 
Ill  it  suits  my  mortal  station 

Secret  thy  dread  truths  to  keep. 

"  Give,  ah !  give  me  back  my  bhndness. 

Let  me  in  the  gloom  rejoice ! 
I  have  sung  no  human  kindness 

Wliile  the  mouthpiece  of  thy  choice. 
True,  the  future  thou  dost  grant  me, 

But  the  present  says  me  nay. 
Sere  is  life  which  should  enchant  me : 

Take  thy  cursed  gift  away. 

"  Never  have  my  locks  been  plaited 
In  their  bridal  garb  again 
Since  my  life  I  consecrated 
To  thy  melancholy  fane. 


2IO  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

Youth  for  me  was  void  of  gladness, 
Grief  and  pain  were  all  my  share, 

And  my  dear  ones'  every  sadness 
Brought  my  gentle  heart  despair. 

"  See,  my  playmates  are  contented, 

All  around  me  loves  and  lives ; 
Joy  is  everywhere  presented, 

Mine  the  only  heart  that  grieves. 
Spring  brings  me  no  satisfaction 

Though  the  earth  its  glories  cheer. 
Who  in  life  can  find  distraction 

If  beneath  its  depths  he  peer  ? 

"  E'en  in  her  deluded  yearning, 

Blest  Polyxene  I  hold, 
Who  the  noblest  Greek  is  burning 

In  her  bridal  clasp  to  fold. 
Proudly  is  her  bosom  heaving, 

Scarce  her  rapture  she  conceals ; 
And,  in  her  fond  dream  believing, 

For  no  heavenly  boon  appeals. 

"  And  I  too  have  been  permitted 

On  my  chosen  one  to  gaze. 
Marked  the  supphant  glance  which  flitted 

From  his  eye  with  loving  blaze. 
Nought  my  spouse  from  me  should  sever. 

Toying  in  my  home  serene :  — 
But  a  Stygian  shade  would  ever 

Nightly  thrust  itself  between. 

"  All  her  pale-faced  spectres  yonder, 
Dark  Proserpina  doth  bring. 
And  where'er  my  footsteps  wander 
Hordes  of  ghosts  around  me  cling. 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  211 

In  the  sports  of  childhood  nimbly 

Gambolling,  my  path  they  chain 
In  a  horrid,  grim  assembly  ! 

Never  can  I  smile  again ! 

Lo  !  the  blade  is  elevated, 

And  the  murderous  eyes  I  see ; 
By  my  terror  fascinated, 

If  I  would,  I  can  not  flee. 
And  I  can  not  look  behind  me, 

Calmly  seeing,  hearing  all ; 
Conscious  of  the  fates  which  bind  me 

In  an  alien  land  to  fall." 

Still  her  doleful  words  were  ringing 

When  a  murmuring  clamour  spread. 
From  the  distant  temple  springing :  — 

Thetis'  mighty  son  lay  dead  ! 
Eris  shakes  her  snaky  tresses. 

All  the  gods  in  haste  are  gone, 
And  the  angry  storm-cloud  presses 

On  devoted  Ihon. 


THE    DIVEE. 

"  Is  there  a  knight  or  squire  who  dare 

Dive  into  yonder  abyss  ? 
A  golden  goblet  hes  buried  there. 

Above  it  the  waters  boil  and  hiss. 
Who  ever  presents  it  again  to  my  sight 
Shall  keep  it  for  ever :   I  grant  him  the  right." 

Thus  spake  the  King,  and  speaking,  hurled 
The  cup  from  the  cliff  where  he  stood, 

Into  the  seething  gulf  which  whirled 
Far  below  in  Charybdis'  flood. 


212  POEMS  OF   SCHILLER 

"  Again,  I  demand,  is  there  any  so  bold 
As  to  search  in  these  depths  for  my  goblet  of  gold  ?  " 

Never  a  word  spake  Knight  or  Squire, 

But  stood  with  downcast  eyes ; 
Nor  does  one  of  the  band  aspire 

To  earn  for  himself  the  golden  prize. 
"  Is  there  none,"  once  more  the  monarch  cried, 
"  Who  will  venture  to  fathom  the  depths  of  the  tide  ? " 

Yet,  never  a  one  the  silence  broke 

Till  a  noble  Squire  and  proud. 
Hurling  aside  his  girdle  and  cloak. 

Stepped  from  the  ranks  of  the  faltering  crowd ; 
And  there  was  not  a  witness  of  the  scene 
But  noted  with  wonder  his  gallant  mien. 

And  as  he  approached  the  angry  brow 

And  gazed  beneath,  he  saw 
The  flood  which  Charybdis  swallowed  but  now 

Rolling  back  from  her  terrible  maw. 
And  with  the  distant  thunder's  boom, 
Burst  foaming  from  that  dismal  womb. 


^o 


It  writhes  and  it  bubbles,  it  curdles  and  seethes, 

Like  water  and  flame  at  bay ; 
And  billow  on  billow  in  steaming  wreaths 

Break  sky-high  in  eternal  spray. 
—  Yet  no  relief :  - —  and  it  seems  that  the  main 
Is  great  witli  an  ocean,  yet  labours  in  vain. 

But  at  last  the  tumult  abates,  and  lo ! 

A  black  and  silent  well 
Gapes  through  the  foam,  and  seems  to  go 

To  the  very  bottom-most  depths  of  Hell. 
And  the  bounding  waves  in  the  pride  of  their  might 
Are  drawn  to  the  vortex,  and  vanish  from  sight. 


"  One  cry  of  horror  from  all  —  he  dives  " 

Photogravure  from  the  painting   by  Michaelis 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  213 

Quickly  the  youth,  ere  the  fury  revives, 

Commits  his  soul  to  God : 
One  cry  of  horror  from  all  —  he  dives, 

And  disappears  in  the  hurtling  flood. 
The  cruel  jaws  close  over  their  prey, 
Th'  adventurous  swimmer  is  lost  for  aye. 

All  is  still  save  a  hoarse  and  muttering  sound 
Borne  from  the  depths  without  cease  ; 

And  from  lip  to  lip  the  prayer  goes  round : 
—  "  Noble  young  hero,  rest  in  peace  ! " 

But  hoarser  and  hoarser  resounds  the  cry, 

And  the  critical  moments  will  never  go  by. 

If  the  crown  itself  in  the  gulf  were  thrown. 
And  the  finder  should  wear  it  as  King, 

Yet  would  I  not  choose,  for  the  sake  of  the  crown, 
So  dear  a  prize  from  the  deep  to  bring. 

No  living  soul  shall  ever  tell 

What  is  hid  in  the  womb  of  this  watery  Hell. 

Full  many  a  craft  in  yon  terrible  reel 

Has  vanished  beneath  the  wave : 
But  at  most  some  shattered  mast  or  keel 

Eeturns  from  the  all-devouring  grave. 
—  And  the   sigh   of  the   storm   comes  clearer  and 

clearer. 
The  moan  of  the  tempest  ever  nearer. 

It  writhes  and  it  bubbles,  it  curdles  and  seethes 

Like  water  and  flame  at  bay  ; 
And  billow  on  billow  in  steaming  wreaths 

Break  sky-high  in  eternal  spray. 
And  with  the  distant  thunder's  boom 
Rise  boiling  from  that  dismal  womb. 


2  14  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

—  But  see  !     Through  the  darkling  waters  there 
A  sometliing  of  suowy  white ! 

A  glistening  neck  the  sea  lays  bare, 

And  an  arm  which  wrestles  with  desperate  might. 

—  "  It  is  he  !     In  his  other  hand,  behold  ! 
He  brandishes  gaily  the  goblet  of  gold." 


And  a  deep  and  powerful  breath  he  drew 

As  he  hailed  the  light  of  day. 
And  the  joyful  shout  resounds  anew : 

—  "  He  is  safe  !     It  cannot  drag  him  away. 
His  arm  has  been  able  his  spirit  to  save 
From  the  boiling  depths  of  the  watery  grave." 


He  lands,  and  the  people  press  around, 

A  cheering  and  jubilant  ring ; 
As  lowly  kneeling  upon  the  ground, 

He  proffers  the  golden  cup  to  Ms  King. 
The  King  to  his  daughter  makes  a  sign. 
And  she  fills  the  goblet  with  sparkling  wine. 

"  Long  live  the  King  !     Ah  !  happy  ye 

Who  live  in  this  rosy  light ! 
It  is  awful  yonder  beneath  the  sea  ! 

To  tempt  the  gods  can  never  be  right. 
And  never,  I  warn  you,  be  so  bold 
As  to  seek  what  the  gods  in  their  mercy  withhold. 


"  With  lightning  speed  I  was  downwards  whirled. 
When  from  a  rocky  seam 
A  counter-torrent  was  upwards  hurled, 

And  I  writhed  in  the  grip  of  a  double  stream. 
And  like  a  top  in  its  dizzy  course, 
Was  hurried  away  by  the  mastering  force. 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  215 

"  But  God,  unto  whom  I  fervently  cried 
(As  I  thought)  with  my  latest  breath, 
Showed  me  a  coral  ledge  at  my  side : 

—  I  clutched  it,  and  thus  eluded  death. 
And  there  on  the  rocks  hung  the  goblet  of  gold, 
Which  else  had  descended  to  fathoms  untold. 


"  For  below  me  it  still  lay  fathoms  deep 

In  a  distant,  purple  gloom  : 
And  although  the  ear  should  happily  sleep, 

No  rest  for  the  eye  in  that  horrible  tomb ; 
For  Salamanders  and  Dragons  dwell 
Kampant  there  in  the  jaws  of  Hell. 


"  Around  in  an  odious  crowd  they  press, 
—  And  in  loathsome  masses  sway  ; 
The  Dog-fish,  marvel  of  ugliness. 

The  staring  Cod,  and  the  spiny  Ray ; 
And,  with  cruel  teeth  full  grinning  at  me. 
The  Shark,  that  ubiquitous  scourge  of  the  sea. 

"And  there  I  clung,  with  terror  possessed, 
Alone  with  the  hideous  brood ; 
One  only  living  human  breast 

In  the  midst  of  this  awful  solitude ; 
Far  from  the  voice  or  help  of  men. 
Deep  interned  in  the  monsters'  den. 


"  And  methought,  in  my  terror  one  crept  toward  me. 

With  a  hundred  arms  outhung : 
He  snatched  —  and  in  my  agony 

I  released  the  coral  to  which  I  clung. 
—  Again  I  was  seized  by  the  whirl  in  its  might ; 
But  'twas  well,  for  it  hurried  me  back  to  the  light." 


2i6  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

Almost  bewildered  stood  the  King, 

And  said  :  "  The  goblet  is  won  ; 
And  I  promise  thee  also  this  costly  ring 

Enriched  with  many  a  royal  stone, 
If   thou  plunge  again,  and  bring  me  word 
What  visions  the  bottommost  depths  afford." 

His  daughter  hsteued  with  anxious  heart, 
And  from  coaxing  hps  came  the  prayer : 

—  "  Nay,  father,  enough  of  this  terrible  sport, 
He  has  done  for  you  what  none  other  dare. 

And  if  your  keen  mind  further  knowledge  desire, 
'Tis  the  turn   of  the   knights  to   abash   the  young 
squire." 

Then  the  monarch  flung  the  cup  amain 
Into  the  whirling  sea. 
"  Bring  me,"  he  cried,  "  the  goblet  again, 

And  I  dub  thee  knight  of  the  first  degree. 
And  this  very  day  thou  shalt  her  embrace, 
As  thy  spouse,  who  now  pleads  with  such  earnest 
grace." 

Then  a  heaven-bom  might  possessed  his  soul, 

And  his  eyes  with  ardour  flashed. 
As  over  her  features  the  blushes  stole, 

Then  faded  and  left  her  pale  and  abashed. 
Such  a  glorious  prize  he  is  bound  to  win. 

—  For  life  or  for  death  he  plunges  in. 

The  roaring  breakers  come  and  go 

As  the  thundering  echoes  proclaim  ; 
All  eyes  are  bent  on  the  gulf  below. 

But  the  waves  come  ever  and  ever  the  same. 
Boihng  they  rise,  and  boiling  retire. 
But  none  bears  back  the  gallant  young  squire. 


POEMS  OF   SCHILLER  217 


THE  WALK  TO  THE  FOUNDRY. 

A  PIOUS  youth  was  Fridolin, 

And  in  all  godly  fear 
He  held  the  Countess  of  Savern 

Who  was  his  mistress  dear. 
She  was  so  gentle  and  so  good  ; 
And  e'en  in  her  more  hasty  mood, 
He  would  have  hastened  to  fulfil 
Her  every  wish  with  hearty  will. 

From  the  first  dawning  streak  of  day 

Until  the  vesper  bell 
His  only  wish  was  to  obey, 

In  duty  to  excel. 
And  did  his  lady  counsel  rest, 
Into  his  eyes  the  tear-drops  pressed  ; 
He  thought  his  duty  left  undone 
If  not  by  wearying  efforts  shown. 

Him,  then,  o'er  all  the  menial  train 
The  Countess  chose  to  raise ; 

From  her  fair  lips  did  ever  rain 
Unmeasured  words  of  praise. 

Her  servant  he  no  longer  seemed, 

Eather  her  darhng  son  esteemed  ; 

Upon  his  handsome  face  her  eye 

Was  ever  dwelHng  joyfully. 

Thereat  in  huntsman  Robert's  heart 

A  dark  resentment  rose. 
(With  lust  to  play  some  cruel  part 

Long  time  his  bosom  glows.) 
To  the  hot-blooded  Count  he  went, 
Whose  ear  was  all  too  hghtly  lent, 


2x8  POEMS  OF   SCHILLER 

And  coming  from  the  hunting-field 
The  seeds  of  doubt  he  thus  instilled. 

"How  fortunate,  Sir  Count,  art  thou," 

Quoth  he  with  cunning  deep, 
"  Suspicion's  poisoned  voice,  I  trow, 
Ne'er  mars  thy  golden  sleep ; 
For  what  a  noble  wife  is  thine, 
Girdled  with  chastity  divine  ; 
Loyal  fidelity  t'  ensnare 
Drives  the  seducer  to  despair." 

Then  rolls  the  Count  his  flashing  eye: 

"  What  dost  thou  tell  me,  knave  ? 
On  woman's  virtue  to  rely  — 

As  fickle  as  the  wave  ? 
A  flattering  tongue  she  aye  demands. 
My  faith  on  sounder  footing  stands. 
None  dares,  I  hope,  his  eyes  to  turn 
Upon  the  Countess  of  Savern  !  " 

The  other  spake:  "Thou  thinkst  aright; 

Only  thy  passing  scorn 
Should  he,  who  so  presumes,  excite, 

—  A  fool  and  menial  born  — 
Who  on  his  mistress  dares  to  raise 
His  wicked  thoughts  and  wanton  gaze." 

—  *'  What !  "  —  thus  the  trembling  Count  began 

—  "  Dost  speak  of  any  living  man  ? " 

"  Was  that  which  filled  the  mouths  of  men 
Still  from  my  Lord  concealed  ? 
Then  let  not  what  has  'scaped  thy  ken 
By  me  be  first  revealed."  — 
"  Speak  !  for  thy  life,  thou  villain,  speak," 
The  other  cries  with  frenzied  shriek : 


POEAIS  OF  SCHILLER  219 

"  Who  dares  on  Cunigond  to  look  ?  " 
"  —  Well,  it  was  of  the  Page  I  spoke. 

"  The  youth  is  of  no  common  frame," 
He  craftily  pursued, 
While  hot  and  cold  the  Count  became, 
And  quivered  as  he  stood. 
"  Then  didst  thou  never  notice,  Sir, 
That  he  had  eyes  alone  for  her  ? 
For  thee  at  table  had  no  care, 
But  ever  languished  round  her  chair  ? 

"  See  here  the  verses  which  he  sent 

His  passion  to  confess  "  — 
"  Confess  ! "  —  "  And  which,  impertinent, 
For  mutual  ardour  press. 
The  Countess,  with  compassion  filled. 
Doubtless  the  truth  from  thee  concealed : 
My  hasty  words  I  now  regret ; 
—  But,  Sir,  what  cause  for  thee  to  fret  ? " 

Into  the  little  wood  hard  by 

The  Count  in  fury  turns, 
To  where  in  roaring  industry 

His  iron-furnace  burns. 
By  many  a  busy  toiling  hand 
Early  and  late  the  blast  is  fanned  ; 
The  sparks  out-fly,  the  bellows  groan. 
As  though  to  fuse  the  solid  stone. 


'O' 


The  might  of  fire,  the  water's  force. 

Are  here  united  found  ; 
The  mill-wheel  in  the  current's  course 

Goes  ever  round  and  round. 
All  day  and  night  the  workshops  ring, 
In  time  the  ponderous  hammers  swing, 


220  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

And  yielding  to  those  mighty  blows, 
The  very  iron  plastic  grows. 

Two  of  the  men  he  bids  attend, 
And  thus  explains  their  task  : 
"  The  one  whom  first  I  hither  send. 

And  who  proceeds  to  ask : 
'  Have  ye  obeyed  our  master  well  ? ' 
Him  cast  into  yon  fiery  hell, 
Till  but  his  ashes  shall  remain, 
Nor  let  him  vex  my  sight  again ! " 

Thereat  rejoiced  th'  inhuman  pair, 
With  murderous  lust  possessed. 
For  hard  and  cold  as  iron  were 

The  hearts  within  their  breast. 
With  zeal  the  bellows  do  they  ply 
And  heap  the  raging  furnace  high. 
And  with  bloodthirsty  zest  prepare 
The  fated  victim  to  ensnare. 

Then  Kobert  to  his  fellow  cries 
With  black  hypocrisy  : 
"  Hither,  my  lad,  at  once  ;  arise  ! 
My  lord  has  need  of  thee." 
The  master  speaks  to  Fridoliu  : 
"  Make  haste  the  iron  works  to  gain. 
And  ask  the  men  who  labour  there 
If  my  behests  have  had  their  care." 

Replied  the  youth  :  "  I  haste  to  go." 
And  girded  him  with  speed  : 

But  paused,  reflecting  that  she  too 
His  services  might  need. 

Unto  the  Countess  then  he  went : 
"  Down  to  the  foundry  I  am  sent ; 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  221 

What  can  I  do  to  please  thee,  say  ? 
For  thy  commauds  I  first  obey." 

On  this  the  lady  of  Savern 

Replied  in  gentlest  tone  : 
"  To  hear  the  blessed  mass  I  yearn, 

But  suffering  lies  my  son. 
So  go,  my  child,  and,  kneehng,  tell 
A  pious  prayer  for  me  as  well. 
And  if  repentant  be  thy  prayer, 
I  too,  perchance,  thy  grace  may  share." 

And  on  this  welcome  errand  bound, 

He  took  his  course  amain 
With  joy,  and  time  had  scarcely  found 

The  village  end  to  gain, 
When  on  his  ear  in  tones  sublime 
Resounded  the  sonorous  chime 
Which,  telling  of  forgiveness  sent. 
Bids  sinners  to  the  Sacrament. 

"  Do  not  the  loving  God  evade 

When  in  thy  path  He  hes ! " 
So  saying,  for  the  church  he  made. 

No  sounds  of  worship  rise. 
'Tis  harvest  and  the  reaper  wields 
His  sickle  in  the  glowing  fields. 
No  choir  is  present  to  sustain 
The  mass  with  disciplined  refrain. 

The  resolution  straight  he  made 
The  Sacristan  to  play  ; 
"  That  which  leads  heavenward,"  he  said, 
"  Is  surely  no  delay ! " 
About  the  Priest  with  mien  abased 
The  stole  and  bands  he  humbly  placed. 


222  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

Then  set  himself  with  pious  care 
The  holy  vessels  to  prepare. 

And  when  the  altar  he  had  dressed 

He  meekly  took  his  stand. 
As  an  assistant,  by  the  Priest, 

The  Office  in  his  hand. 
To  left  and  right  in  turn  he  knelt, 
And  on  each  slightest  signal  dwelt, 
And  when  the  holy  Sanctus  came 
Eang  thrice  to  greet  the  sacred  name. 

And  as  the  Priest  devoutly  bends 

And  o'er  the  altar,  calm, 
The  very  present  God  extends 

In  his  uplifted  palm, 
The  Sacristan  proclaims  the  spell 
Upon  the  clear  and  silvery  bell. 
And  all  kneel  down,  and  every  breast 
Is  crossed  before  Christ  manifest. 

Each  function  thus  in  order  due 

He  did  with  ready  thought ; 
The  ritual  of  God's  house  he  knew, 

By  inner  conscience  taught, 
Nor  wearied  till  the  service  ceased. 
And  to  the  parting  folk  the  Priest 
The  Doniinus  vobiscum  said, 
And  a  devout  departure  bade. 

First  all  to  order  he  restored 

And  set  in  fair  array, 
And  swept  the  sanctuary  adored. 

And  then  he  went  his  way 
With  mind  at  peace  aloug  the  road 
To  where  the  iron  foundry  stood ; 


■•  V  ^;,^,> 


■ '  <  '  ,-' 


"  '  His  case  is  settled,'  they  replied'' 

Photogravure  from  the  painting  by  II.  Knochl 


I 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  223 

And  the  full  number  to  uphold, 
A  dozen  Paternosters  told. 

And  when  the  chimneys  came  in  view, 

He  shouted  to  the  hands  :  — 
"Have  ye  been  careful,  lads,  to  do 

Our  noble  Count's  commands  ? " 

A  leer  upon  their  features  came, 

And  pointiug  to  the  raging  flame ;  — 
"  His  case  is  settled"  they  replied  ; 
"  The  Count  will  learn  our  work  with  pride." 

Straight  to  his  master  this  reply 

With  utmost  haste  he  took. 
Who  gazed  upon  him  drawing  nigh 
With  wonder-stricken  look. 
"  Unhappy  one,  whence  com'st  thou,  say  ? " 
"  Sir,  from  the  iron  foundry.  "  —  "  Nay  ! 
Then  on  the  road  thou  hast  delayed ! " 
"  Sir,  it  was  only  while  I  prayed. 

"  For  when  tliis  day  I  left  thy  side 

(For  this  thy  pardon.  Sir !) 
First  to  my  mistress  I  apphed : 

—  My  duty  is  to  her.  — 
The  holy  mass  she  bade  me  hear. 
And  this  I  did  with  joy  sincere, 
And  told  four  Aves  at  the  shrine 
For  her  salvation  and  for  thine." 

At  this  the  Count  in  agony 

Shuddered  with  bitter  pain  • 
—  "  And  at  the  foundry  what  reply, 

My  lad,  didst  thou  obtain  ?  " 

"  My  lord,  their  answer  was  obscure. 

For,  pointing  to  the  furnace  door, 


224  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

'  His  case  is  settled^  they  replied, 

'  The  Count  will  learn  our  work  with  pride.' '' 

"  And  Eobert,"  thus  the  Count  pursued, 

Seized  with  a  chilly  sweat, 
"  I  sent  him  also  to  the  wood : 

Surely,  ye  must  have  met  ? " 
"  Sir,  neither  wood  nor  open  field 
Did  any  trace  of  Eobert  yield." 
"  Then,"  cried  the  Count  wdth  awe-struck  tone, 
«  The  will  of  God  Himself  is  done ! " 

And  gentler  than  had  been  his  wont, 

He  took  his  servant's  hand, 
Led  him  the  Countess  to  confront, 

(Who  failed  to  understand) 
And  said  :  "  This  child  is  angel  pure : 
Let  him,  I  pray,  thy  grace  secure  ! 
If  evil  counsellors  were  ours, 
On  him  the  grace  of  Heaven  showers ! " 


THE    GLOVE. 

Before  his  Lion  Court, 

Keen  for  the  tourney's  sport, 

King  Francis  sat  on  a  day. 

Around  were  the  mighty  ones  of  the  land, 

And  up  in  a  balcony,  close  at  hand. 

The  ladies  in  bright  array. 

And  as  with  his  finger  a  sign  he  made, 
Wide  opened  the  gates  in  the  pahsade ; 
A  lion  is  seen 
With  stately  mien. 
He  glares  around, 
But  makes  no  sound 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  225 

He  yawns  disdain, 
Anil  shakes  his  mane, 
And  stretchuag  once  more, 
Lies  down  on  the  floor. 

Another  sign  is  made  by  the  King, 
A  neighbouring  portal  open  to  fling  — 
.With  a  furious  crash 
And  a  ponderous  dash 
A  tiger  springs  in. 
The  lion  he  views. 
And  with  roaring  pursues, 
And  lashes  his  tail 
Like  the  sweep  of  a  flail ; 
He  exhibits  his  fangs. 
And  cautiously  hangs 
At  a  distance  secure 
From  the  lion  demure, 
And  snarls  and  howls  — 
Then  quietly  prowls 
And  lies  at  the  lion's  side. 

Again  a  signal  is  made  by  the  King. 
The  doors  of  a  den  are  opened  wide, 
And  forth  a  couple  of  leopards  glide. 
With  lust  of  battle  they  prowl  around, 
Then  furious  on  to  the  tiger  bound. 
But  they  succumb  to  the  terrible  paws, 
And  next  the  hon  opens  his  jaws 
And  roars  aloud :  then  all  is  still. 
With  glaring  eyes  with  lust  which  thrill, 
There  the  terrible  beasts  of  prey, 
Eanged  in  an  awful  circle,  lay. 

Then  some  fair  hand  from  the  terrace  above 
Into  the  lists  let  fall  her  glove. 


226  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

Fluttering  down  from  the  gallery  gay. 
Between  the  hon  and  tiger  it  lay. 

With  a  bantering  tone  fair  Cunigonde 
To  the  Knight  Delorges  cried  : 
"  An  thy  love  for  me,  Sir  Knight,  be  as  fond 
As  often  thou  hast  sighed, 
Then  bring  me,  I  pray  thee,  my  glove  again." 

The  Knight,  unanswering,  vaulted  amain 
Into  the  lists  from  above. 
With  confident  stride  and  an  easy  grace 
He  boldly  affronted  that  horrible  place, 
And  rescued  the  delicate  glove. 

With  terrified  wonder  the  stirring  sight 
Was  witnessed  by  every  lady  and  knight. 
And  as  he  returned  with  the  glove  in  his  grip 
His  praises  resounded  from  hp  to  lip. 
And  Cunigonde  with  a  tender  glance. 
Which  seemed  to  augur  his  fortunate  chance. 
Stepped  forward  her  lover  to  greet. 

But  he  hurled  the  rescued  glove  in  her  face : 
"  Thy  thanks,  my  Lady,  are  out  of  place  ! " 
—  And  they  parted,  never  to  meet. 


THE   VEILED   IMAGE   AT   SAIS. 

A  YOUTH  there  was  who,  burning  with  a  thirst 

For  knowledge,  to  Egyptian  Sais  came 

In  hopes  the  wisdom  of  the  Priests  to  learn. 

Some  grades  his  ready  wit  soon  left  behind, 

But  his  inquiring  spirit  urged  him  on 

Until  the  Priest  could  hardly  satisfy 

The  inquirer's  zeal.  —  "  Why,  what  do  I  possess," 

Exclaimed  the  youth,  "  unless  possessed  of  all  ? 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  227 

Is  there,  then,  here  a  greater  and  a  less  ? 

And  are  thy  verities,  as  fancy  bids, 

Only  a  sum  which,  be  it  great  or  small. 

May  be  obtained  and  utilised  at  will  ? 

Are  they  not  indivisible  and  one  ? 

Take  from  a  perfect  harmony  one  tone. 

Deprive  the  rainbow  of   a  single  tint, 

And  what  remains  is  nothing,  if  there  fail 

Complete  perfection  in  those  notes  and  hues." 

And  thus  conversing  once  they  found  themselves 

Wandering  into  a  sequestered  fane, 

Where  to  his  wonderment  the  youth  observed 

An  image  deeply  veiled,  of  giant  size. 

And  turning  to  his  guide  :  "  What,"  he  demands, 

"  Does  yonder  veil  beneath  its  folds  conceal  ?  " 

"  The  Truth,"  is  the  reply.  —  "  What,"  cried  the  hoy, 

"  'Tis  nothing  else  but  Truth  that  I  pursue, 

And  must  I  find  that  just  that  Truth  is  veiled  ? " 

"  That  with  the  Deity  thou  must  arrange," 

Replied  the  Priest.     "  No  mortal,  'tis  ordained, 

Shall  lift  this  veil  till  I  do  so  myself. 

And  he  who  w^ith  unconsecrated  hand 

Shall  earlier  the  mystery  expose, 

He,  saith  the  god  "  —  "  Well  ? "  —  "  He  shall  see  the 

Truth." 
"  A  strange  oracular  decree  !  and  thou. 
Hast  thou  thyself  the  secret  never  probed  ?  " 
"  I  ?     No  indeed  !     And  have  not  even  felt 
So  tempted."  —  "  That  I  can  not  understand. 
If  but  this  veil  divided  me  from  Truth."  — 
"And  a  command,  my  son,"  struck  in  his  guide. 
"  More  weiglity  than  perchance  thou  dost  divine 
Is  this  thin  gauze  —  light  truly  to  thine  hand, 
But  on  thy  conscience  hundredweights  it  loads." 
O'erwlielmed    in    thought,    homeward    the  youth  re- 
turned ; 
But  the  consuming  eagerness  to  Icnow 


228  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

Eobbed  him  of  sleep,  he  tossed  iipou  his  couch, 

And  rose  at  midnight.  —  To  the  temple  straight, 

In  spite  of  him,  his  faltering  footsteps  turned. 

An  easy  task  it  was  to  scale  the  wall. 

And  with  one  leap  the  bold  adventurer  stands 

Eight  in  the  inner  precincts  of  the  fane. 

Here  he  makes  pause,  and  notices  with  awe 

The  lonely,  lifeless  silence  which  prevails. 

Only  disturbed  by  the  reechoing  clang 

Of  his  own  footfall  in  the  secret  vault. 

Above,  athwart  the  breaches  in  the  dome. 

The  moon  projects  a  pale  and  silvery  ray. 

And,  awful,  as  a  very-present  God, 

Clear  in  the  shadow  of  the  arched  recess 

In  its  long  shroud  the  image  brightly  gleams. 

Anon  advancing  with  uncertain  stride. 

He  lifts  his  hand  the  holy  thing  to  touch, 

When  hot  and  cold  his  bones  alternate  thrill. 

And  by  an  unseen  arm  he  is  repulsed. 

"  Unhappy  man,  what  wouldst  thou  do  ? "     So  cries 

Within  his  consciousness  a  warning  voice. 

"  Wouldst  thou  presume  the  holiest  to  tempt  ? 

No  mortal,  so  the  oracle  declared, 

Shall  raise  this  veil  till  it  is  raised  by  me." 

"  Thus  spoke  he,  but  did  not  the  speaker  add : 

'  Whoever  hfts  this  veil  shall  see  the  Truth  ? '  " 

"  Be  what  there  may  behind,  raise  it  I  will." 

In  rising  tones  he  cries  :  "  I  will  behold  !  " 

"  Behold ! " 

Thus  does  the  mocking  echo  make  reply. 

The  last  is  said  :  —  and  he  has  drawn  the  veil. 
"  Now,"  ye  will  ask,  "  what  object  met  his  gaze  ? " 
I  know  not.  —  Void  of  consciousness  and  pale, 
So  on  the  morrow  was  he  prostrate  found 


POEMS  OF   SCHILLER  229 

By  the  attending  Priests  at  Isis'  feet. 

Whate'er  he  saw,  whatever  then  lie  learned, 

His  lips  have  never  told :  but  gone  for  aye 

Was  all  the  former  gladness  of  his  life, 

And  sorrow  bore  him  to  an  early  grave. 

"  Woe  be  to  him,"  his  warning  voice  would  say 

When  urgent  questioners  around  him  pressed, 

"  Woe  he  to  him  who  seeks  for  Truth  through  sin  ! 

For  Truth  so  found  no  happiness  will  yield." 


THE   PAETITION   OF   THE   WOKLD. 

"  Here,  take  the  world,"  cried  mighty  Zeus,  addressing 
Mankind  at  large  from  his  higli  throne  above. 

"  I  give  it  you  for  ever  with  my  blessing ; 
But  share  it  with  fraternal  love." 

Then  hastened  every  hand  to  the  partition  : 
With  equal  ardour  young  and  aged  came. 

The  crops  aroused  the  husbandman's  ambition. 
The  young  blood  fixed  upon  the  game. 

The  merchant  ran  to  fill  his  stores  with  treasure. 
The  Abbot  singled  out  the  oldest  wine, 

The  King  blocked  roads  and  bridges  at  his  plea.^ure, 
And  cried  :  "  A  tithe  of  all  is  mine." 

Just  at  the  last,  when  all  had  been  provided, 
The  Poet  came :  he  came  from  far  away. 

Alas  I  no  more  remained  to  be  divided, 
And  all  things  owned  some  master's  sway. 

"  Ah  !  Woe  is  me  !  am  I  alone  neglected, 
Of  all  mankind  thy  dearest,  truest  sou  ? " 
Thus  wailing  loud,  in  attitude  dejected. 
He  crouched  before  Jove's  awful  throne. 


230  POEA^S   OF  SCHILLER 

"  If  thou  to  dwell  in  dreamland  hast  elected," 
Replied  the  god,  "  lay  not  the  blame  on  me. 
Where  wast  thou  when  the  sharing  was  effected  ? " 
"  I  was,"  the  Poet  said,  «  by  thee." 

"  Mine  eye  upon  thy  countenance  was  dwelling. 
Thy  heavenly  harmony  entranced  mine  ear ; 
Forgive  the  mind  thine  influence  compelling 
Rendered  oblivious  of  this  sphere." 

"  Wliat  can  I  do  ?  "  said  Zeus,  "  for  all  is  given  ; 
The  harvest,  sport,  the  markets,  all  are  seized. 
But  an  thou  choose  to  live  with  me  in  heaven. 
Come  when  thou  will'st,  and  I  shall  be  well 
pleased." 


THE   STRANGE   MAIDEN. 

A  VALE  there  was,  whose  simple  folk 
Perceived  with  each  returning  year, 
Just  as  the  earhest  larks  awoke, 
A  strange  and  lovely  maid  appear. 

Her  birth  the  valley  could  not  boast. 
Where  she  had  come  from  none  could  teU ; 
And  every  trace  of  her  was  lost 
The  moment  she  had  bid  farewell. 

Her  presence  caused  an  honest  mirth 
All  hearts  and  spirits  to  invade, 
And  yet  her  dignity  and  worth 
Familiarity  forbade. 

Enchanting  blooms  and  fruits  she  bore 
With  gay  profusion  in  her  hand, 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  231 

Grown  on  some  more  prolific  shore, 
The  products  of  a  sunnier  land. 

To  every  one  she  gave  a  share  — 
To  this  some  fruit,  to  that  a  bloom ; 
And  whether  young  or  bowed  with  care. 
All  turned  their  footsteps  richer  home. 

Welcome  were  all,  but  if  by  chance. 
Hand  clasped  in  hand,  some  lovers  passed. 
For  them  was  her  most  favoured  glance. 
And  they  received  her  very  best. 


PARABLES   AND   EIDDLES. 


On  an  illimitable  mead 
Sheep  silver  white  in  thousands  graze ; 
And  where  to-day  we  see  them  feed. 
There  have  they  been  since  ancient  days. 

They  never  age,  and  mildly  quaff 
Life  from  a  ne'er-exhausted  burn ; 
A  shepherd  tends  them,  and  his  staff 
Presents  a  crescent  silver  horn. 

As  through  the  golden  gates  they  press 
His  precious  flock  he  nightly  counts. 
And  never  has  a  lamb  the  less 
Although  the  steep  so  oft  he  mounts. 

A  dog  controls  the  wandering  train, 
A  lusty  ram  points  out  the  way ; 
What  is  that  flock  ?     Canst  thou  explain  ? 
And  who  the  careful  shepherd  ?  —  Say !  ^ 
1  The  Moon  aud  Stars. 


232  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

IL 

Two  buckets,  hanging  side  by  side, 

Over  a  well  depend  : 

If  to  the  surface  one  you  guide, 

The  other  will  descend. 

Alternate  on  the  rope  they  pull, 

Now  one  and  then  the  other  full, 

And  while  you  take  a  sip  from  this. 

That  is  immersed  in  the  abyss. 

The  cooling  draught  for  which  you  sigh, 

Together  they  can  ne'er  supply.^ 


III. 

This  picture  dost  thou  recognise 
Which  its  own  lustrous  light  provides. 
Assumes  an  ever-changing  guise. 
Yet  constant  and  undimmed  abides  ? 
'Tis  compassed  in  the  smallest  space, 
Its  framework  is  the  narrowest  bound, 
Yet  all  dimensions  leave  their  trace. 
And  through  it  everything  is  found. 

Then  give  this  crystal  gem  a  name, 
Its  worth  all  precious  stones  transcends ; 
It  blazes,  yet  without  a  flame. 
And  all  the  world  it  comprehends. 
The  very  heaven  is  portrayed 
Within  that  httle  magic  ring, 
And  visions  which  its  zone  invade 
Still  fairer  from  the  circle  spring.  ^ 

IV. 

A  structure  built  in  days  of  yore ! 
No  house  it  is,  nor  yet  a  fane. 

^  Day  and  Night.  2  xhe  Eye. 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  233 


Eide  for  a  hundred  days  or  more 
To  girdle  it  —  the  task  is  vain ! 


o^ 


While  generations  passed  away 
It  braved  the  stress  of  storm  and  time ; 
It  courts  the  sky-roofed  ocean  spray, 
And  cloud  ward  its  free  turrets  climb. 

In  no  vainglory  was  it  reared, 
It  serves  to  cherish  and  protect. 
Its  Hke  on  earth  has  ne'er  appeared, 
Yet  human  was  its  architect.^ 


We  number  six,  and  owe  our  birth 
And  training  to  no  common  pair : 
Our  sire  was  ever  full  of  mirth, 
Our  mother  was  a  slave  to  care. 

Some  of  our  worth  to  each  we  owe  — 
Softness  to  her,  lustre  to  him  — 
Round  you  in  circling  dance  we  go, 
And,  ever  young,  we  lightly  skim. 

All  dark  secluded  nooks  we  hate, 
And  revel  in  the  light  of  day  ; 
The  world  itself  we  animate 
And  charm  with  our  mysterious  sway. 

We  come  with  Spring-time's  earhest  breath, 
And  its  inspiring  numbers  tell ; 
We  shrink  from  the  domain  of  death, 
For  all  around  us  life  must  well. 

None  with  our  succour  can  dispense, 
When  men  are  happy,  we  are  by. 
1  The  Great  Wall  of  China. 


234  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

Talk  of  a  king's  magnificence  — 
'Tis  we  the  dignity  supply  !  ^ 

VL 

Although  inadequately  prized, 
Yet  suited  to  the  greatest  king, 
Like  a  keen  sword,  it  is  devised 
To  violate.  —  What  is  that  thing  ? 

Though  wounding  oft,  no  blood  it  sheds, 
Makes  many  rich,  takes  nought  by  stealth ; 
Earth's  surface  it  has  overspread, 
And  brought  it  happiness  and  health. 

Kingdoms  have  risen  through  its  might, 
-     The  oldest  cities  it  could  rear ; 
The  torch  of  war  it  ne'er  did  light, 
And  happy  they  who  hold  it  dear!^ 

VIL 

I  dwell  in  a  rigorous  mansion  of  flint, 

And  quietly  sleeping  I  lie 

Till  the  impact  of  iron  impresses  a  dint, 

When  forth  in  a  moment  I  hie. 

Invisible  first,  I  was  little  and  weak, 

With  a  puff  you  might  blow  me  away; 

One  dewdrop  could  smother  me  just  in  a  freak; 

But  my  pinions  soon  obtain  play. 

If  my  powerful  sister  but  come  to  mine  aid, 

I  will  spread  in  my  wrath  till  the  world  is  afraid.  ^ 

VIII. 

A  dial  is  my  coursing  ground ; 
I  never  take  a  moment's  rest ; 

^The  Six  Primary  Colours.  2  The  Ploughshare. 

3  A  Spark  from  Flint  and  SteeL 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  235 

Small  is  my  orbit,  and  its  bound 
Were  by  a  pair  of  hands  compressed. 
Yet  swift  as  arrows  from  the  bow, 
Swift  as  the  tempest  roars  through  space, 
Full  many  a  thousand  miles  I  go 
Ere  I  complete  my  httle  race.^ 


THE   WALK. 

Hail  to  thee !  roseate  hill,  thou  luminous  peak  of  the 
mountain, 
Welcome  to  thee,  good  Sun,  spreading  thy  bountiful 
rays. 
Hail  to  the  bustling  plain,  and  to  you,  ye  murmuring 
lindens. 
Hail  the  melodious  air  sighing  the  branches  among. 
Hail  to    thee,  azure    serene,    whose    limitless    canopy 
shimmers 
Over   the   brown    hillside,   over    the    newly   green 
wood  — 
Over  me  too,  who  at  length    escaping  my  'prisoning 
chamber 
And  everlasting  talk,  joyfully  summon  thine  aid. 
Softly  thine  odorous  breath  pervades  and  quickens  my 
forces, 
And  a  clear  flood  of  light  strengthens  my  famishing 
eye. 
Many  and  strongly  defined  are  the  various  hues  on  the 
meadows. 
But    the    dehghtful    array    yields    an    harmonious 
blend. 
Freely  I  enter  the  fields  with  their  rolling  carpet  of 
verdure ; 
Through  the  enchanting  green  winds  a  scarce  visible 
path. 

1  The  Shadow  on  the  Sun-DiaL 


2i6  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 


•J 


Kound  me  the  bee  is  busily  humming,  and  skirting  the 
clover. 
Slowly  the  butterfly  floats,  poised  on  ambiguous  v.  iug. 
Glowing  strike  the  rays  of  the  sun,  the  Zephyrs  are  idle, 
Only  the  song  of  the  lark  sounds  in  the  uppermost 
air. 
Ah  !  but  anon  in  the  copse  a  rustle  is  heard,  and  the 
alders 
Bow  their  heads,  and  the  wind  swells  through  the 
silvery  reeds. 

Lo!  I  plunge  into  night  ;  and  rich  in  ambrosial  odours, 

Beeches  over  my  head  tent  me  in  glorious  shade. 
Here  in  the  depths  of  the  wood  the  landscape  has  sud- 
denly vanished. 
And  I  steadily  mount,  led  by  a  sinuous  patli. 
Here  and  there  by  stealth  through  the  leafy  trellis  of 
branches 
Pierces  a  wandering  ray,  showing  the  heavens  above. 
Suddenly  rises  the  veil,  and  the  opening  glades  of  the 
forest 
Bring  my  startled  eyes  back  to  the  glory  of  day. 
Far  as  the  eye  can  reach  the  scene  lies  open  before  me, 
And  yon  hazy-blue  chain  governs  the  limits  of  earth. 
Down  at  the  foot  of  the  hill  which  opens  steeply  below 
me 
Bubbles  a  mirror-like  stream,  eddying  merrily  by. 
Both  at  my  feet  and  above  I  gaze  on  the  limitless  ether, 
Dizzily  look  up  above,  glance  with  a  shudder  below. 
But  from  the  heights  above  to  the  everlasting  abysses 

Reaches  a  guarded  stair  guiding  the  wanderer  down. 
Smiling  before  my  eyes  are  the  banks  in  their  wealthy 
abundance, 
And  the  whole  blooming  vale  tells  of  industrious  toil. 
Look  at  the  rows  which  mark  th'  extent  of  the  country- 
man's holding. 
Woven  by  Ceres'  self  into  the  tapestried  field. 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  237 

Kindly  decree  of  the  law,  of  the  Deity  watching  above  us, 

Since  from  the  brazen  world  charity  faded  away. 
But  with  a  bolder  sweep,  dividing  the  orderly  [)astures, 
Sometimes  lost  in  the  wood,  now  on  the  slope  of  the 
hill, 
Glitters  a  silvery  streak,  the    broad    highway  of    the 
country. 
And  the  rafts  glide  by  down  the  immaculate  stream. 
Multiplied  over  the  plain  the  bells  of  the  cattle  are 
tinkling. 
And  the  herdsman's  song  echoes  the  only  reply. 
Villages  brighten  the  stream,  and  hamlets  peep  through 
the  tliickets. 
Others  behind  the  hill  right  on  the  precipice  hang. 
Loving  feelings  exist  'twixt  man  and  his  neighbourly 
acres 
When  his   own  peaceful  fields  compass  his  humble 
abode. 
Like  a  familiar  friend  the  vine  climbs  in  at  the  window, 
And  an  affectionate  bough  circles  the  house  in  its  arm. 
Fortunate  race  of  the  fields,  still  all  unawakened  to 
freedom. 
Sharing  ahke  with  thy  plains  all  that  the  law  can 
bestow. 
Bound  are  thy  limited  hopes  by  the  peaceable  cycles  of 
harvest, 
And  thy  life  rolls  on  e'en  as  the  task  of  a  day !  — 

—  But  what  steals  away  this  charming  prospect  ?    A 
spirit 

All  unknown  to  me  spreads  o'er  the  alien  plain. 
Lightly  it  sets  apart  what  erst  was  happily  blended. 

Like  consorts  with  hke ;  kin  is  attracted  to  kin. 
Eank  I  see  maintained  :  the  proud  generation  of  poplars, 

Eanged  in  orderly  pomp,  marches  with  dignified  air ; 
All  is  ordained  by  rule,  all  proves  considered  intention, 

And  this  disciplined  train  points  to  the  master  of  all. 


238  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

Gaudily  blaze  from  afar  the  glittering  domes  in    his 
honour, 
Out  of  the  rocky  gorge  rises  the  pinnacled  town. 
Into  the   desert  without  the   fauns  of  the  forest  are 
driven, 
But  devotion  lends  loftier  life  to  the  stone. 
Closer  the  bonds  are  drawn  uniting  man  to  his  fellows, 
And  a  more  active  world  rolls  through  his  orbit  of 
hfe. 
See !  how  the  envious  forces  inflame  in  the  fiery  con- 
test: 
Much  their  strife  achieves :  ah  !  but  their  unity  more. 
Thousands    of    eager    hands    by    a    single    spirit    are 
quickened, 
Deep  iu  a  thousand    breasts   glows  an    unanimous 
heart ; 
Glows  for  native  land  and  the  honoured  laws  of  their 
fathers  ; 
Here  in  the  sacred  soil  rest  their  illustrious  bones. 
Down  from  heaven  to  earth  descend  the  blessed  Im- 
mortals, 
And    in    the    favoured    site    plant   their    decorous 
abode. 
Gracious  on  earth  they  appear,  distributing  heavenly 
bounties ; 
Ceres  gives  the  plough,  Hermes  an  anchor  bestows. 
Bacchus  presents  the   grape,  Minerva  the   flourishing 
olive ; 
And  with  the  warlike  steed  mighty  Poseidon  appears. 
Cybele's  hous  are  yoked  to  the  pole  of  the  peaceable 
wagon, 
In  through  the  gate,  as  a  friend,  passes  the  Mother 
of  all. 
Sacred  stones !     From  you  have  the  roots  of  humanity 
issued, 
Carrying  morals  and  art  down  to  the  isles  of  the 
sea. 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  239 

Here  at  these  friendly  gates  their  judgment  sages  have 
uttered  ; 
Heroes,  rushing    to  arms,  fought  for  the  gods  of 
their  home. 
High  on  the  battlements  stood  the  mothers   nursing 
their  infants. 
And,  till   lost  to  their  view,  gazed  on  the  warrior 
train. 
Then  they  knelt  in  prayer,  and  prostrate  in  front  of  the 
altars, 
Victory  asked    and    fame,  begged    for  your    happy 
return. 
Victory,  honour,  were  yours  ;  but  there  came  back  only 
the  glory. 
And  the  pathetic  stone  renders  account  of  your  deeds. 
"  And  if  thou  comest  to  Sparta,  proclaim,  good  traveller, 
yonder 
How  thou    hast  seen    us  he    here  where  our   duty 
ordained," 
Kest,  ye  beloved,  in  peace  !    by  the  blood  ye  so  cheer- 
fully sprinkled, 
Th'  olive  thrives,  and  the  seed  thanks  to  your  agony 
swells. 
Proud  of  its  own  free  rights,  im trammelled  industry 
prospers. 
Out  of  the  reeds  in  the  brook  signs  the  coerulean 
God. 
Crashes  the  axe  on  the  tree,  you  may  hear  the  lament 
of  the  Dryad ; 
High  from  the  mountain  crest  masses  are  thundering 
down. 
Out  of  its  setting  of  rock  the  stone  by  the  lever  is 
shifted, 
And  the  miner  descends  into  the  bowels  of  earth, 
Eing  the  ponderous  tones  of  the  hammer  on  Mulciber's 
anvil. 
Splutter  the  sparks  of  steel  under  the  sinewy  hand. 


2  40  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

Gaily  the  golden  flax  winds  round  the  rollicking  distaff. 
'Tvvixt  the  threads  of  warp  whizzes  the  shuttle  along, 
Out  in   the  roadstead   cries  the  pilot,  and,  resting  at 
anchor, 
Ships  lie  ready  to  bear  fruits  of  our  labour  abroad  ; 
Others    arrive   meanwhile,  the   gifts  of    the  foreigner 
yielding, 
Bearing  on   each   high  mast  fluttering  emblems  of 

joy. 

See  how  the  markets  swarm,  the  centre  of  active  exist- 
ence. 
Where  such  a  medley  of  tongues  puzzles  the  wonder- 
ing ear. 
Ou  to  the  neighbouring  quays  the  merchant  discharges 
the  harvest 
Born  of  a  glowing  soil,  nurtured  in  Africa's  sun. 
All  that  Arabia  sends,  the  products  of  Ultima  Thule, 

All  Amalthea  receives  into  her  bountiful  horn. 
Godlike  children  are  born  to  fortune  with  talent  united. 

Weaned  upon  freedom's  breast  flourishes  every  art. 
With  realistic  hfe  the  painter  gladdens  the  eyesight, 
And,  by  the  chisel  inspired,  murmurs  the  animate 
stone. 
Counterfeit  heavens  repose  on  slender  Ionian  pillars, 

And  a  Pantheon  includes  all  the  Olympian  host. 
Light  as  the  rainbow's  leap  into  space,  or  the  feathering 
arrow, 
Springs  the  arch  of  the  bridge  over  the  blustering 
stream. 
—  But  in  his  silent  cell,  designing  significant  emblems. 

Muses  the  sage,  and  gropes  after  the  secret  of  life ; 
Tests  the  power  of  matter,  the  loves  and  hates  of  the 
loadstone. 
Follows  the  wavelets  of  sound,  chases  in  ether  the 
ray, 
Seeks  a  familiar  law  in  the  terrible  marvels  of  hazard, 
Seeks  th'  eternal  Pole,  all  apparitions  defied. 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  241 

Letters  lend  a  form  and  voice  to  unuttered  reflections 
Down  through  the  centuries'  course,  borne  on  the 
eloquent  page. 
So  from   the  wondering  eye   rolls  back  the    mist    of 
illusion, 
And  the  creations  of  night  yield  to  the  graces  of 
day. 
Man  is  bursting  his  bonds.  —  The  happier  !     So  that 
he  break  not 
With    the    shackles    of    fear,    also    the    bridle    of 
shame. 
Eeason  freedom  claims,  demands  with  inordinate  ar- 
dour. 
Shakes  off  Nature's  yoke,  eager  to  wander  alone. 
See  how,  caught  in  the  storm,  the  vessels  are  dragging 
their  anchors 
Far  from  the  sheltering  land :  off  they  are  borne  by 
the  tide. 
Into    eternity    swept,  the    coast-Hne  vanished  behind 
her, 
Mastless  rolls  the  bark  high   on  the   mountainous 
wave. 
Lost  in  the  clouds,  the  Wain's  immutable  stars  are 
extinguished. 
Nothing  abides,  and  doubt  lurks  in  the  bosom  of 
God. 
Banished  is  truth  from  speech,  from  life  all  faith  and 
religion. 
And,  as  it  fouls  the  lips,  even  the  oath  is  a  lie. 
Into  the    innermost  realms  of  the   heart,  of    private 
affection. 
Severing  friend   from  friend,  forces  the  toady   his 
way. 
Innocence  shrinks  from  the  eye  of  treachery  leering 
upon  her. 
And   with  a  poisoned   shaft   slays  the   calumnious 
tongue. 


242  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

In  the  dishonoured  breast  coarse,  venal  opinion  hovers, 

Love  casts  rudely  aside  sensitive  feeling  and  grace. 
Thy  fair  badges,  0  Truth,  are  assumed  by  fraud  and 
deception, 
And  they  dare  to  pollute  Nature's  adorable  tones  — 
Tones  which  the  suffering  heart  in  its  instants  of  pleas- 
ure devises ; 
Struck  untimely  dumb,  sentiment  hardly  exists. 
Justice  vaunts  on  the  Bench,  unanimity  brags  in  the 
cottnge. 
Only  the  ghost  of  the  law  sits  on  the  throne  of  the 
King. 
Long  may  the  mummy  endure ;  for  years  to  come,  and 
for  ages 
May    its   deceitful    form    pass    for    the    fulness    of 
hfe, 
Until  Nature  awakes ;  and,  with  hand  of  heavy  correc- 
tion, 
'Gainst  this  structure  of  straw  time  and  necessity 
rise. 
Like  a  tigress  who,  burst  through  the  iron  bars  of  her 
prison. 
Suddenly,  terribly,  dreams  of  the  Numidian  groves. 
So   in    the    madness    of    crime    and    want    humanity 
rises. 
And  in  the  burnt-out  town  seeks  for  the  Nature  of 
yore. 
Oh !  then  open,  ye  walls,  restore  to  the  prisoner  free- 
dom ! 
Let    him    turn    with    relief   back    to    his    pastures 
again  ! 
—  But,  where  am  I  ?  —  The  path  is  lost,  and  dreadful 
abysses. 
Yawning   before    and  behind,  hinder  my  faltering 
steps. 
Left  behind  is  the  garden's  and  hedge's  familiar  escort. 
And  there  fades  from  sight  every  vestige  of  man. 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  243 

Matter  alone  remains  from  which  life's  germs  are  de- 
veloped, 
And  th'  unwrought  basalt  waits  for  a   fashioning 
hand. 
Down  through  the  channels  of  rock  the  torrent,  noisily 
plunging, 
Under  the  roots  of  the  trees  angrily  forces  a  way. 
Dreary  is   all    around  ;   in   the  desolate   ocean  above 
me 
Only  the  eagle  soars,  heaven  uniting  with  earth. 
Never  a  quivering  air  buoys  up  to  my  lonely  position 
The  old   sounds  which   announce  human   affliction 
and  joy. 
Am  I  really  alone  ?  —  In  thine  arms,  on  thy  glorious 
bosom. 
Nature,  again  I  repose  :  and  —  it  was  only  a  dream, 
Which  so  filled  me  with  awe :  with  life  thus  terribly 
pictured. 
And   with  the  wreck   of  the  vale  happier   visions 
return. 
Purer  my  life  I  receive  from  thine  immaculate  altars. 
And  am  cheered  once  more  by  the  bright  promise  of 
youth. 
Will  is  for  ever  changing  its  laws  and  purpose;  and 
ever. 
Clad  in  a  manifold  garb,  deeds  in  a  circle  revolve. 
But  in  perennial  youth  and  eternally  varying  beauty, 
Nature,  thou  honourest  stdl  all  the  good  precepts  of 
old; 
Ever  preservest  intact  in  thy  loyal  keeping,  for  man- 
hood, 
That  which  childhood  or  youth  to  thy  fidelity  trusts; 
Nurturest  at  one  breast  the  changing  cycles  of  ages. 
Under  the  same  blue  vault,  on  an  identical  sward. 
Neighbourly,  hand    in  hand,  are    the    differing    races 
united, 
And  old  Homer's  son  bhnks  upon  us  with  a  smile. 


244  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 


THE   POWER    OF   SONG. 

A  TORKENT  from  the  fissured  rocks 
With  all  the  din  of  thunder  rolls, 
The  sohd  earth  its  impact  shocks, 
Before  it  bow  the  oaken  boles ; 
Transfixed  with  a  voluptuous  fear. 
The  wanderer  hstens  in  dismay ; 
The  rock-bound  stream  bursts  on  his  ear- 
Yet  whence  it  flows  he  cannot  say. 
So  roll  impetuously  along 
The  unsuspected  floods  of  song. 


The  minstrel  shares  the  awful  might 
Of  those  who  forge  life's  tangled  chain. 
Who  can  his  magic  members  shght, 
And  who  ignore  his  wild  refrain  ? 
His  cry,  by  godlike  powers  sped, 
Appeals  to  each  impassioned  soul ; 
He  seeks  the  regions  of  the  dead, 
And  soars  to  where  the  heavens  roll. 
'Twixt  jest  and  earnest  he  can  sway 
Men's  minds,  and  all  the  gamut  play. 


As  when  into  a  scene  of  mirth 

Some  giant  apparition  strides  — 

Some  phantom  of  mysterious  birth  — 

And,  charged  with  dreadful  portents,  glides, 

The  earth's  exalted  recognise 

The  stranger  from  the  other  world. 

No  longer  senseless  revels  rise. 

And  every  mask  aside  is  hurled ; 

For  falsehood  seeks  to  thrive  in  vain 

In  mighty  Truth's  triumphant  reign. 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  245 

And  so  mau's  grievances  abate 
When  noble  song  enchants  his  ear ; 
He  rises  to  a  god's  estate 
And  steps  into  the  heavenly  sphere. 
Not  gi-eater  are  the  gods  than  he, 
No  earthly  thoughts  his  soul  molest ; 
From  all  distractions  he  is  free, 
No  fateful  vision  mars  his  rest. 
Smoothed  are  the  wrinkled  lines  of  care 
While  music's  charms  the  soul  ensnare. 

And  as,  after  heartbreaking  pain 
And  separation's  bitter  grief, 
The  child  repentant  seeks  again 
Upon  his  mother's  breast  relief. 
So  to  the  thoughts  of  early  days. 
When  innocence  was  yet  unstained, 
From  foreign  lands  and  foreign  ways 
Song  brings  the  wanderer  home,  regained, 
To  learn  in  Nature's  loving  school 
What  ne'er  was  taught  by  formal  rule. 


HOPE. 

Men  often  speak  and  dream  in  hope 

Of  happier  days  in  store  ; 

And  toward  th'  ideal  goal  they  grope, 

And  dream  and  hope  the  more. 

The  world  grows  old  and  young  again. 

And  man  goes  hoping  on  in  vain. 

Hope  is  a  witness  at  his  birth, 
It  flutters  round  his  early  bloom, 
Its  magic  clothes  his  youth  with  mirth. 
Nor  quits  the  graybeard  in  his  tomb. 


246  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

Life's  troubles  o'er,  we  still  enthrone 
Hope  over  his  memorial  stone. 

It  is  no  vain  deluding  thought 
Which  from  disordered  fancy  springs. 
By  hope  our  hearts  are  plainly  taught 
That  we  are  born  for  better  things. 
That  inward  voice,  if  we  believe, 
The  hoping  soul  will  not  deceive. 


THE   SOWER 

Full  of  .hope,  to  the  earth  the  golden  seed  is  entrusted, 
And  thou  lookest  in  Spring  for  an  unmeasured  return. 

But  in  the  furrows  of  time  such  deeds  art  careful  to 
scatter 
As,  in  wisdom  sown,  may  to  eternity  rise  ? 

THE   MEECHANT. 

Whither  is  bound  yon  ship  ?     A  Sidonian  company 
mans  her, 
And  she  hails  from  the  North,  loaded  with  amber 
and  tin. 
Dandle  her  softly,  winds ;  and  be  thou  merciful,  Nep- 
tune, 
In  some  sheltering  cove  find  her  a  potable  rill. 
Dedicated  to  you,  ye  gods,  is  surely  the  merchant. 
Wealth  he  seeks ;  but  shares  with  the  good  vessel 
his  gain. 

ULYSSES. 

Traversing    every   sea    on    his   homeward    journey, 
Ulysses 
Past  Charybdis  steered  only  on  Scylla  to  fall. 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  247 

Subject  to  perils  of  earth  and  the  horrible  tumults  of 
ocean, 
Lay  liis  wandering  course,  guided  him  even  to  hell, 
Till  in  the  end   he  was   borne  asleep  to   his  Ithacan 
island ; 
Yet  his  awakening  eyes  failed  to  acknowledge  his 
home ! 

CARTHAGE. 

Oh,  degenerate  child  of  a  noble  and  glorious  mother. 

Who  to  the  vigour  of  Eome  added  the  Tyrian's  craft ! 
Eomans  sternly  ruled  the  worlds  they  had  taken  in 
action, 
While  the  Tyrian  taught  worlds  he  had  cunningly 
won. 
What  thine  historical   fame  ?     Thou  conquerest  true, 
like  a  Eoman, 
Sword  in  hand ;  but  thy  rule  savours  of  Tyrian  gold. 


THE   KNIGHTS   OF    ST.   JOHN. 

Nobly  invested  are  ye,  the  cross  on  your  panoply  wear- 
in  cr 

Lionlike  as  ye  stand,  fighting  for  Acre  and  Rhodes, 
As  the  trembling  palmer  ye  guide  in  the  Syrian  desert, 
And  with  a  cherubim's  sword  on  to  the  Sepulchre 
press. 
Yet   still  fairer  thy  garb  when  clad  in  the  merciful 
apron 
Which  (ye  lions  of  fight,  sons  of  a  conquering  race) 
Ye  endue  at  the  bed  of  the  sick  and  suffering  needy, 
And  with  a  menial  hand  render  him  Christian  aid. 
Faith  of  the  holy  Cross,  in  a  merciful  chaplet  united 
Round  thee,  like  twin  palms,  might  and  humility 
blend. 


248  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 


GEKMAN  HONOUR 

Germany's  sceptre   to  wield    claimed  both    Bavarian 
Louis 
And    the    Hapsburg    Fritz,    equally    summoned    to 
reign. 
But  the  fortune  of  war  delivered  the  Austrian  over. 

Still  in  the  ardour  of  youth,  into  the  hand  of  the  foe. 
Eausom  ?  —  the   throne  he  renounced,  and  swore   to 
abandon  his  party. 
And  to  wield  his  sword  on  the  victorious  side. 
Under  coercion  he  swore :  but  free,  he  repented  his 
error, 
And  of  his  own  free  will  back  to  his  prison  he  came. 
Full  of  emotion,  the  foe  embraced  him,  and  ever  there- 
after 
As  two  friends   they   shared    beaker   and  trencher 
alike. 
Sharing  a  common  couch  the  princes  in  harmony  slum- 
bered, 
While    an    inveterate  hate    sundered  their   peoples 
apart. 
Now  'gainst  Frederick's  host  must  Louis  amain ;  and  a 
warder 
Over  Bavaria  leaves  whom  —  but  his  actual  foe  ? 
"  Ay,  and  the  story  is  true  !  It  is  true,  for  I  have  it  in 
writing ! " 
When  he  was  told  the  tale,  so  did  the  Pontifex  cry. 


COLUMBUS. 

On,  thou  mariner  bold  !  though  wags  look  on  in  deri- 
sion, 

Tliough  the  sailor  o'ercome  drop  from  the  tiller  his 
hand. 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  249 

On,  ever  on  to  the  West !  for  the  land  is  undoubtedly 
westward, 
As  thy  reason  avers  and  a  presentiment  tells. 
Trust  in  the  guiding  of  God  and  the  murmuring  paths 

of  the  ocean. 
Were  it  till  now  unborn,  ocean  would  come  to  thine  aid. 
Genius  hand  in  hand  with  Nature  is  ever  united. 

Genius  animates  hope,  Nature  the  promise  performs. 


POMPEII  AND  HERCULANEUM. 

What  new  marvel  is  this  ?     We  prayed  for  drinkable 
waters, 
What  strange  fruit  is  this,  dear  Mother  Earth,  of 
thy  womb  ? 
Is  there  life  in  the  pit  ?     Is  there  dwelling  under  the 
lava  ? 
Some    generation    unknown  ?    Does    the    departed 
return  ? 
Come,  ye  Eomans  and  Greeks  !     Behold  your  ancient 
Pompeii 
Rises,  and  here  stands  Hercules'  city  anew. 
Gable  on  gable  ascends,  the  generous  portal  is  open. 
Hither  approach  with  speed,  hasten  to  people  its 
halls ! 
Lo !   the  theatre   invites  ;  let  the  populace,  earnestly 
pressing 
Through  its    seven-fold  doors  jostle  their  emulous 
way. 
And  do  ye,  Mimes,  come  forth  ;  complete  thine  obla- 
tion, Atrides, 
While  to  Orestes'  ear  sadly  the  chorus  appeals. 
Whither  conducts  yon  arch  ?     Dost  thou  distinguish 
the  Forum  ? 
Look  at  the  curule  chair :  whose  are  the  figures  I 
see  ? 


250  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

Lictors,  bear  your  fasces  on  high  !  In  front  of  the  Praetor 

At  the  judgment  seat  witness  and  plaintiff  appear. 
Orderly    streets    their    breadth    display ;    with    loftier 
pavement 
Branch  the  narrow  lanes  winding  the  houses  among. 
Far  the  sheltering  eaves  project,  the  dainty  apartments 

Eound  the  sequestered  court  nestle  in  cosy  array. 
Open    the   shutters  wide    and    the    doors    with    long- 
stiffened  hinges ! 
Where  black  night  has  prevailed  enter  the  glamour 
of  day ! 
See,  how  round  by  the  wall  the  rows  of  benches  are 
ordered. 
And  as  with  precious  stones  sparkles  the  floor  in 
relief. 
Merrily  glow  the  walls  with  fresh  and  brilhant  colours  ; 
Where    is    the    artist,    whose    brush    toiled    but    a 
moment  ago  ? 
Rich   with    swelling    fruit  and  chosen    blossoms,  the 
garlands 
Compass  a  charming  view  set  in  a  flowery  frame. 
Here  with  his  baskets  filled  a  Cupid  is  gliding,  and 
yonder 
Eed-stained  toilers  stand  busily  treading  the  wine. 
High  the  Bacchante  leaps  in  her  dance,  or  in  slumber 
reposes. 
While  the  lurking  faun  peeps  with  insatiate  eye. 
Hither  in  whimsical  course  the  galloping  Centaur  she 
urges ; 
Hovering  on  one  knee,  gaily  the  thyrsus  applies. 
Lads,  why  tarry  ye  ?     Here  !  the  well-fashioned  vessels 
await  you ; 
Hither,  ye  maidens,  and  draw  from  the  Etrurian  jar ! 
Is  not  the  tripod  at  hand,  upborne  by  the  wings  of  the 
sphinxes  ? 
Stir   the  fire !    and  haste,    minister,  slaves,   to   the 
hearth ! 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  251 

Purchase !    and  here  are  coins  by  the  powerful  Titus 
imprinted  ; 
Even  the  scale  lies  here,  never  a  weight  is  astray. 
Place  the  burning  lights    in  the  dainty  and  elegant 
sockets, 
Let  the  lamp  be  charged  full  of  diaphanous  oil ; 
What   does    tliis    box    contain  ?     Ah !    see    what   the 
bridegroom  has  ordered, 
Maiden,  circlets  of  gold  ;  jewels  thy  dress  to  adorn  ! 
Lead  the  bride  to  the  odorous  bath,  the  ointments  are 
handy, 
In  the  crystal  vase,  traces  of  rouge  I  espy. 
—  But,  say,  where  are  the  men  ?     In  the  sterner  do- 
main of  the  study 
Lie  in  a  priceless  heap  numbers  of  curious  scrolls. 
Here  are  tablets  of  wax  and  styles  —  all  writing  uten- 
sils :  — 
Never  a  thing  lost,  faithfully  guarded  in  earth. 
All  the  Penates  are  here,  each  god  puts  in  an  appearance ; 
How  is  it  all  are  found  saving  the  Priesthood  alone  ? 
Merrily    waving    his    wand,    behold    the    hght-footed 
Hermes, 
And  from  his  steady  hand  victory  surely  proceeds. 
Eeady  and   waiting  stand  the  altars :   oh !  come  and 
ignite  them ; 
Long  has  waited  the  god :  offer  th'  oblation  at  last. 


THE    ILIAD. 

Pluck  from  the  garland  of  Homer,  and  number  the 
tale  of  the  Fathers, 
Who  have  contributed  all,  parts  of  the  epic  sublime ! 
But  one  mother  above  it  acknowledges,  and  her  ap- 
pearance 
Her    personality    tells  —  Nature,   her    features    are 
thine ! 


252  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 


ZEUS  TO  HEEACLES. 

Not    my  nectar  it  was   to  thee    which  godhead  ac- 
corded ; 
Thy    god-grauted    might    pounced    on   the    nectar 
amain. 


THE  ANTIQUE  TO  THE  NORTHEEN  WAN- 

DEEEE. 

EiVERS  have  been  no  bar,  thou  hast  faced  the  terrors 
of  ocean, 
And  in  the  loftiest  alps  dizzying  arches  hast  dared 
Me  in  my  home  to  see,  and  yield  me  intimate  honour, 
Such   as  the  voice  of  the  world  yields  in  inspired 
acclaim. 
Now  in  my  presence  thou  art,  my  sanctified  essence  is 
o'er  thee. 
Yet  are  we   nearer  akin  ?      Which  can  appreciate 
which  ? 


THE   MINSTEELS    OF   OLD    TIME. 

Where  is  that  glorious  host  of  strong  and  melodious 
minstrels 
Whose    inspiring    strains    ravished    the    senses    of 
men  — 
Who  could  conjure  the  gods  to  earth,  waft  mortals  to 
heaven, 
And  exalted  the  soul  to  a  poetical  flight  ? 
Singers  indeed  there  are :  'tis  heroic  achievements  are 
wanting. 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  253 

And  a  receptive  ear,  lyrical  passion  to  rouse, 
Happy  ye  minstrels  of   old,  when  the  voices  of  each 
generation 
Passed  your  stories  down  to  generations  unknown. 
Welcoming  him  as  a  God,  the  world  devoutly  accepted 

What  his  genius  bore,  what  he  created  and  taught. 
By  the  romance  of  his  song  was  kindled  the  listener's 
ardour, 
And  the  emotion  aroused  fed  the  poetical  fire  — 
Fed  it  and  also  purged !     Ah,  fortunate  he,  that  a  peo- 
ple 
With  universal  acclaim  joyfully  echoed  his  lay, 
And  that  here  in  the  world  existed  a  spirit  to  aid  him. 
Such  as  a  bard  of  to-day  scarce  can  awake  in  his 
heart. 

NENIA. 

Beauty  itself  must  die !     Though  it  subjugate  men 
and  immortals, 
Yet  it  can  never  appeal  unto  the  Stygian  god. 
Love    but  once  in  his  life  could  move  the  ruler  of 
Hades, 
Who  on  the  threshold  then   sternly  regretted  his 
vow. 
Not    Aphrodite    herself    could    heal    the    wounds    of 
Adonis, 
Torn  in  his  delicate  skin  by  the  redoubtable  boar. 
Nor  was  the  hero  saved  at  Troy  by  his  mother  immor- 
tal 
When  at  the  gate  he  died,  falling  as  destiny  bade. 
But  from  the  deep  she  rose  with  all  the  daughters  of 
Nereus, 
Wailing  long  and  loud  for  her  illustrious  son. 
Gods    and    goddesses    all    lament    in    unanimous    an- 
guish 
That  the  beautiful  dies,  fades  the  ideal  away. 


254  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

Even  a  dirge  of  lament  we  prize  from  the  lips  of  our 
dear  ones, 
For  the  dishonoured  and  mean  creep  into  Orcus  un- 
sung. 


THE   CHILD   AT   PLAY. 

Play  in   thy  mother's  lap  !     In    that  holy  inviolate 
island, 
Child,  no  cares  exist,  nor  does  anxiety  frown. 
Dandled  above  the  abyss  in  the  loving  embrace  of  a 
mother, 
Smihng  thou  mayst  glance  down  on  the  tumult  of 
earth. 
Play,  then,  innocent  child  !     Arcadia   still  is  around 
thee, 
Nature  uncontrolled  loves  an  hilarious  mood. 
Eor  the  voluptuous  art  fictitious  borders  arranges, 

Willing  as  is  thy  soul,  lacking  are  duty  and  aim. 
Play  !     For  anon  will  come  the  days  of  compulsory 
labour, 
And  from  a  task  imposed  pleasure  and  humour  re- 
coil. 


THE    SEXES. 

Lo  !  in  the  tender  child  two  charming  flowers  united  ! 

In  one  common  bud  maiden  and  youth  are  concealed. 
Gently  the  bond  is  relaxed,  diverge  the  different  in- 
stincts. 
And    from    the  blushes  of  grace  passionate  energy 
parts. 
Grudge  not  the  boy  his  sport,  let  him  revel  in  boister- 
ous ardour ; 
Natural  vigour  appeased,  grace  and  refinement  appear. 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  255 

Bursting  its  swollen  bud,  the  twofold  flower  emerges, 
But  the  blooms  demand  more  than  thy  passionate 
heart. 
Swells  the  maidenly  form  in  soft  exuberant  outline. 
And  her  pride  safeguards,  stern  as  the  girdle,  her 
charms. 
Shy  as  the  tremulous  roe  that  the  horn  alarms  in  the 
forest, 
Man   she  hates  and  shuns,  all    unacquainted  with 
love. 
Stubbornly  glares  the  youth  from  under  his  lowering 
eyebrows. 
And  for  the  fray  prepared,  stretches  his  every  nerve. 
Into  the  thick  of  the  fight  and  into  the  dusty  arena 
Blithely   he  pushes  his  way  honour  and    glory  to 
win. 
Nature,  defend    thy  work  !    what  should   be  for  ever 
united 
Surely  will  break  apart  but  for  thy  fostering  hand. 
Mighty  one,  thou  art  there  already ;    from  angry  con- 
fusion 
Thou   hast  been  able  to  call  forth  an  harmonious 
peace. 
Hushed  is  the  sound  of  the  chase,  the  day's  perpetual 
murmurs 
Die  away,  and  the  stars  gently  drop  into  the  sphere. 
Whispering  sigh  the  reeds,  the  brooks  flow  murmuring 
onward, 
And  Philomela's  song  fills  the  harmonious  grove. 
What  provokes  this  sigh  from  the  heaving  breast  of  the 
maiden  ? 
Stripling,  whence  are  the  tears  silently  dimming  thine 
eye  ?        _ 
Vainly  an  object  she  seeks  for  her  soft  confiding  em- 
braces. 
And  the  rich  ripe  fruit  bows  to  the  earth  with  its 
weight. 


2S6  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

Striving  ever,  the   youth  is  consumed  in  the  flame  he 
has  kindled, 
Nor  is  the  wasting  glow  cooled  by  a  tempering  air. 
Lo!  in  the  end  they  meet:  'tis  love  that  has  brought 
them  together. 
And  to  the  wings  of  the  god  pinioned  victory  cleaves. 
Love  divine,  it  is  thou  who  joinest  humanity's  blossoms, 
Parted  though  they  be,  and  dost  unite  them  for  aye ! 


THE   INFLUENCE   OF  WOMAN. 

Mighty  thou  art  in  the  strength  of  thy  calm  unruffled 
enchantments  ; 

For  tranquillity's  spell  bustle  can  never  achieve. 
Force  I  expect  in  man,  defending  the  canons  of  order ; 

But  let  woman  alone  through  her  amenity  rule. 
Many  indeed  have  ruled  by  dint  of  ideas  and  action, 

But  they  had  not  thee,  noblest  adornment  of  all. 
No  true  queen  there  is  but  woman's  womanly  beauty, 

By  mere  presence  it  rules,  dominant  where  it  appears. 


THE   DANCE. 

See,  how  the  couple  revolve  in  undulatory  motion 

Gliding,  the  winged  foot  scarcely  oppresses  the  earth. 
Are  these  phantoms  of  air  that  I  see,  released  from  the 
body  ? 
Or  are  they  moonlight  elves  winding  in  merry  array  ? 
Light  as  the  smoke  which  wreathes  through  space  at 
the  touch  of  the  Zephyr, 
Light    as    the    dancing    skifl"    borne  on    the  silvery 
tide, 
Capers  the   disciplined   foot  to   the  tune's   melodious 
measure  ; 
And  the  murmuring  strings  buoy  up  the  body  in  air. 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  257 

Now,  as  though  they  would  burst  by  force  through  the 
ranks  of  the  dancers, 
Eight  in  the  thick  of  the  crowd  whirls  an  hilarious 
pair. 
Eapidly  opens  a  path  in  front,  and  closes  behind  them ; 

Opened  and  shut  is  the  way  as  by  a  magical  hand. 
Lo !  they  have  vanished  from  sight ;  involved  in  utter 
confusion 
•  Crumbles  the  edifice  fair  built  of  this  versatile  world. 
Stay,  it  rises  again,  its  intricate  fetters  escaping ; 

Tis  the  established  rule,  only  with  varying  charm. 
Oft  destroyed,  so  oft  new  life  creation  engenders. 
And  to  a  silent  law  each  metamorphosis  owns. 
Say,    how  is    it  that,   ever  replaced,  the   figures   are 
reeling, 
Yet  there  exists  repose  in  the  light,  fl!exible  form  ? 
How  that   each  one  is  free,  his  own  heart's  counsel 
obeying. 
The  true  path  to  find,  spite  of  his  hurrying  course  ? 
Wouldst  thou  know  the  reason  ?     'Tis  euphony's  might 
that  imposes 
Form  on  the  sociable  dance,  curbs  the  too-boisterous 
bound  ; 
Which,  like  Nemesis,  calms  with  the  golden  bridle  of 
measure 
Over-exuberant  mirth,  and  the  intractable  tames. 
Do  they  appeal  in  vain,  the  sphere's  harmonious  num- 
bers ? 
Art  thou  not  carried  away,  rapt,  in  the  rhythmical 
stream  ? 
Eapt,  in   the   cadence   subhme   which  all  creation   is 
beating  ? 
Eapt,  in  the  eddying  dance,  which  through  the  ocean 
of  space 
Launches  ghttering  suns  in  bold  meandering  courses  ? 
Measure,  all  honoured  in  sport,  thou  dost  in  action 
abjure. 


2S8  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 


FORTUNE. 

Happy  the  man  whom  the  gods  have  graciously  held 
in  affection 
Yet  unborn,  whose  youth  Venus  has  nursed  in  her 
arms. 
Phoebus  has  shaped  his  eyes,  his  lips  are  chiselled  by 
Hermes, 
And  the  signet  of  might  Zeus  has  impressed  on  his 
brow ! 
What  an  illustrious  fate,  what  a  godlike  future  awaits 
him. 
Ere   the    strife    has   begun   gaily  liis   temples   are 
crowned. 
Ere  he  has  lived,  to  him  the  measure  of  life  is  awarded, 
Ere  he  has  met  with  pain  Charis  has  flown  to  his 
aid. 
Surely  the  man  is  great  who,  by  his  original  instinct 

And  by  Virtue's  aid,  singly  encounters  the  Fates. 
Fortune  alone  he  fails  to  compel ;  what  Charis  denies 
him. 
Jealously  holding  her  hand,  valour  can  never  attain. 
From   whatever  is  base  an  earnest  will  can  preserve 
thee, 
All  that  is  worthy  the  gods  freely  and  amply  be- 
stow. 
As  thou  art  loved  by  thy  love,  so  shower  the  bounties 
of  Heaven  ; 
Equally  Cupid  and  Jove  give  partiality  rein. 
Favourites  have  the  gods ;  they  love  the  natural  ring- 
lets 
Crowning   youth,   for  the  gay   happiness   bring  in 
their  wake. 
Not  unto  those  who  can  see  do  the  gods  vouchsafe 
their  appearance ; 
Their  magnificent  pomp  realise  only  the  blind. 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  259 

Gladly  they  light  for  choice  on  the  mind  of  innocent 
childhood, 
And  to  the  modest  void  heavenly  notions  impart. 
Unexpected  they  come  and  cheat  proud  anticipations, 

Their  spontaneous  course  no  jurisdiction  compels. 
Straight  to  the  man  of  his  choice  the  Father  of  men 
and  Immortals 
Sends  his  eagle  down,  summoning  him  to  the  skies. 
Guided  alone  by  his  will,  from  amidst  the  many  he 
chooses. 
And  on  the  brow  he  prefers  twines  with  affectionate 
hand 
Now  the  laurel  wreath,  and  anon  the  fillet  of  power, 

But  the  Deity  crowns  only  established  success. 
On  the  fortunate  waits  Phcebus,  the  Pythian  hero, 

And  the  compeller  of  hearts,  jovial,  smiling  Amor. 
Even  the  sea  for  him  Poseidon  levels,  and  easy 

Glides  the  keel  which  bears  Caesar  and  all  his  success. 
Low  at  his  feet  the  lion  hes  down,  and  the  arrogant 
dolphin 
Rising  out  of  the  sea,  piously  offers  his  back. 
Blame  not  the  fortunate  man  that  the  gods  have  aided 
his  triumph, 
And  that  her  pet  from  the  fight  Venus  has  hurried 
away. 
Him,  whom   the  goddess  preserves,  the  favoured  of 
Heaven,  I  envy, 
Not  the  man  she  ignores,  wrapt  in  the  blindness  of 
night. 
Was  the   renown  of  Achilles  a  whit  less  great  that 
Hephaestus 
Forged  his  ponderous  shield,  tempered  his  terrible 
blade 
—  That  the   concerns  of  men  should  occupy  mighty 
Olympus  ? 
Eather  his  fame  is  enhanced  that  he  was  worthy 
such  love, 


26o  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

That  it  respected  his  wrath  and,  wilhng  to  add  to  his 

glory, 
Plunged  in  the  fathomless  pit  all  the   selected  of 
Greece. 
Blame  not  beauty  because  she  is  beautiful,  and  without 
effort, 
Thanks  to  Venus'  gifts,  fair  as  the  lily-cup  shines ! 
Grant  that    Fortune  is  hers,  still  fortunate  thou    in 
beholding ! 
Is    she    so    easily    fair  ?    still    thou    enjoyest    her 
charms. 
Happy  thou  that  the  gift  of  song  has  descended  from 
Heaven, 
And  for  thee  the  Bard  sings  what  he  learns  from  the 
muse ! 
Quickened  himself  by  the  god,  a  god  he  becomes  to 
his  hearers. 
Thanks    to    his    Fortune    it    is    thou    canst  fehcity 
share. 
Guarding  the  busy  exchange,  let  Themis  attend  with 
her  balance. 
And  mete  out  the  reward  strictly  according  to  toil ; 
None  but  a  god  can  summon  delight  to  the  face  of  a 
mortal. 
Where  no  miracle  works  Fortune  to  none  can  accrue. 
All  that  is  human  must  first  be  born,  grow  fuller,  and 
ripen. 
And  the  improver.  Time,  cherishes  every  stage ; 
But  nor  Fortune  nor  Grace  canst  thou  mark  as  they 
come  into  being ; 
All  complete  they  are,  born  of  Eternity's  womb. 
Every  Venus  of  earth,  like  the  Venus  of  heaven,  arises, 

A  mysterious  birth,  out  of  the  depths  of  the  sea. 
Just  as  Minerva  of   old  came  forth  equipped  in  her 
aegis 
Springs  from  the  Tlmnderer's  head  every  luminous 
thought. 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  2G1 


GENIUS. 


"  Do  I,"  thou  askest,  "  believe    what  the  masters    of 
learning  have  taught  me  ? 
What    their    disciples'   band    boldly    and    promptly 
affirm  ? 
Can  erudition  alone  to  true  satisfaction  upraise  me, 

And  does  System  alone  justice  and  fortune  uphold  ? 
Shall  I  the  impulse  distrust,  or  neglect  the  whispering 
precepts 
Which  thy  very  self,  Nature,  has  stamped  in  my 
heart. 
Till  on    the   wearisome  theme  the   schools  their  seal 
have  imprinted, 
And  the  volatile  mind  Formula's  fetters  have  bound  ? 
Tell  me  —  for  thou   didst  once  in  these  profundities 
flounder, 
And  from  the  mouldering  grave  compassed  a  happy 
return  — 
Knowest  thou  what  is  stored  in  the  vaults  of  ambiguous 
language. 
Whether  the  hopes  of  the   world  hold   where  the 
mummies  abide  1 
Must  I  travel  this  dismal  path?  —  I  shudder  —  and 
own  it !  — 
Travel  I  will  if  it  lead  really  to  justice  and  truth." — 
Friend,  hast   heard  of  the  Golden   Age  ?     The  poets 
have  left  us 
Many    a    tale   thereanent,    simply    and    touchingly 
told. 
Happy  days !  ere  yet  from  life  the  holy  had  vanished  ; 

When  was  held  in  esteem  maidenly  gentle  reserve ; 
When  the   omnipotent  law,  which  rules  the  celestial 
courses, 
Lying  concealed  in  the  germ,  quickened  the  atom 
to  life ; 


262  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

When  necessity's  law,  in  calm  unvarying  silence, 

E'en  in   the  hearts   of   men  roused  a  more  liberal 
wave ; 
When  the  unerring  mind,  exact  as  the  hand  on  the  dial, 

Pointed  above  to  truth,  only  to  what  could  endure. 
Then  no  scoffer  arose,  no  special  priesthood  existed, 
What  was  brimming  with  life  nobody  sought  iu  the 
tomb. 
Patent  to  every  heart  stood   forth  the  unchangeable 
precept, 
But  the  scource  was  concealed  whence  it  so  happily 
flowed. 
Ah !  those  joyous  days  are  gone !     And  an  obstinate 
blindness, 
Founded    on    absolute    will,    Nature's    repose    has 
destroyed. 
In  the  polluted  sense  no  longer  the  voice  of  the  God- 
head 
Sounds  ;  in  the  blunted  heart  silent  the  oracle  grows. 
Only  in  innermost  self  the  straining  spirit  may  hear  it, 
Where  the  sense  is  preserved  safe  by  the  mystical 
word. 
Here  with  purest  heart  the  inquirer  gravely  adjures  it. 

And  the  instinct  old  gives  him  his  wisdom  again. 
If  it  was  never  thy  fate  to  lose  thy  guardian  angel, 
Nor  with  indifferent  ear  warnings  of  conscience  to 
heed. 
If    in    thine    unblanched    gaze    immaculate   truth   is 
depicted. 
And   her  voice   still   rings  clear  in  thine   innocent 
breast, 
If  thy  placid  mind  to  mutinous  doubt  is  a  stranger. 
If  thou  canst  now  predict  doubt  will  be  silent  for 
aye. 
If  thy  tumultuous  thoughts  ne'er  stand  in  need  of  an 
umpire. 
Nor  sound  sense  be  dulled  by  an  insidious  heart  — 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  263 

Fortunate   man,  then   go  thy  way  in  thine   innocent 
virtue ! 
Science  has  nothing  for  thee ;  rather  her  teacher  be 
thou ! 
Yonder  brazen  law,  which  rigidly  governs  the  masses. 
Is  not  thine.  —  Thy  law  is  what  thou  likest  and 
dost. 
And  as  a  word  of  command  goes  forth  to  all  generations, 
.  What  from  thy  hand  proceeds,  falls  from  thy  sancti- 
fied lips. 
Will  with  amazing  force  affect  the  excited  emotions : 
Only  thou  failst  to  perceive,  throned  in  thy  bosom, 
the  God, 
And    the   powerful    seal    which    humbles    all    spirits 
before  thee, 
But  through  the  vanquished  world  calmly  pursuest 
thy  way. 


THE   PHILOSOPHICAL   EGOTIST. 

Hast  thou   observed  the  babe  who,  ignorant  of  the 
affection 
Which  his  cradle  surrounds,   sleeps    through    each 
changing  embrace, 
Till    in    a    natural    burst  the    passions    of    youth    are 
awakened, 
And  the  first  conscious  flash  suddenly  shows  him 
the  world  ? 
Hast  thou  the  mother  observed,  who  purchases  sleep 
for  her  darling 
At  the  cost  of  her  own,  tenderly  guarding  his  dreams, 
With  her  own  very  hfe  supporting  his  feeble  existence, 

And  in  her  deep  concern  finds  a  sufficient  reward  ? 
And  dost  thou  speak  ill  of  Nature  which,  Mother  and 
infant, 
Gives,  receives,  and  exists,  but  as  necessity  bids  ? 


264  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

Wouldst    thou,    self-contained,    withdraw    from    the 
heavenly  circle, 
Which  in  affectionate  bonds  creature  with  creature 
connects  ? 
Willst  thou  pose  alone,  and  alone  of  deliberate  pur- 
pose, 
When  by  exchange  of  force  even  Eternity  stands  ? 


THE   WORDS   or   FAITH. 

Three  words  of  significant  import  I  name, 

And  lips  to  each  other  impart ; 

From  no  indiscriminate  sources  they  came, 

But  their  origin  have  in  the  heart. 

And  unless  these  words  form  part  of  his  creed, 

Man  is  a  pitiful  creature  indeed. 

Man  was  created,  and  man  is,  free, 

No  matter  if  born  in  chains : 

Let  the  cry  of  the  rabble  pass  over  thee, 

And  the  howl  of  extravagant  swains ! 

Of  no  free  man  stand  thou  in  fear, 

Nor  of  slave  who  has  conquered  a  free  career. 

And  Virtue  is  more  than  an  echoing  call. 

For  it  serves  man  day  by  day. 

And  though  he  may  blunder  and  stumble  and  fall, 

He  can  aim  at  the  virtuous  way. 

And  what  from  the  wiseacre  oft  is  concealed 

Is  as  oft  to  the  soul  of  the  simple  revealed. 

And  a  God  there  is,  whose  will  compels 
The  wavering  mind  of  men, 
And  thought  of  the  loftiest  order  swells 
Beyond  time's  wildest  ken. 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  265 

Though  the  world  in  eternal  vicissitude  roll, 

There  is  ever  repose  for  the  peaceable  soul. 

Preserve  these  three  great  words  that  I  name, 

One  lip  to  another  impart, 

Though  not  from  extraneous  sources  they  came. 

But  their  origin  have  in  the  heart. 

So  long  as  these  words  form  part  of  his  creed, 

Man  is  a  creature  of  worth  indeed. 


THE   WORDS   OF   EEROR 

Three  words  of  significant  meaning  there  are 

In  the  mouths  of  the  wisest  and  best. 

Yet  vainly  they  echo,  like  tones  from  afar, 

And  yield  no  assistance  or  rest. 

Man  forfeits  the  fruits  he  could  lightly  attain 

If  after  impalpable  shadows  he  strain. 

So  long  as  he  pictures  a  glorious  age, 

Rejoicing  in  honour  and  right  — 

Those  gifts  will  assuredly  combat  engage 

With  a  foe  who  for  ever  will  fight. 

Thou  must  at  him  in  air,  for  a  contact  with  earth 

Supplies  to  his  force  a  regenerate  birth. 


So  long  as  he  thinks  that  success  will  attend 

On  nobility's  conduct  and  aims  — 

He  will  find  that  she  looks  upon  wrong  as  a  friend, 

That  the  world  what  is  worthy  disclaims. 

A  wanderer  he,  and  his  duty  to  roam 

To  discover  elsewhere  an  immutable  home. 

So  long  as  he  dreams  that  the  reason  of  man 
Can  with  absolute  verities  close  — 
He  will  find  an  abyss  which  no  mortal  can  span ; 
We  can  but  assume  and  suppose. 


266  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

In  a  word,  it  is  true,  thou  canst  prison  the  mind, 
But  it  surges  away  on  the  wings  of  the  wiud. 


Then  hasten  thy  soul  from  illusions  to  wean, 

And  a  higher  religion  endue ! 

What  the  ear  never  heard,  and  the  eye  has  not  seen 

EemaiDS  what  is  lovely  and  true ! 

It  is  not  abroad,  as  the  foolish  contends, 

'Tis  withiu,  and  upon  thine  own  ardour  depends. 


LIGHT   AND   WAKMTH. 

The  worthy  man  with  trust  receives 

What  in  the  world  he  fiads ; 

And,  self  ignoring,  he  believes 

In  hope  for  noble  minds ; 

And  dedicates,  with  ardour  warm, 

In  Truth's  defence,  his  trusty  arm. 


But  all  too  soon,  alas,  he  learns 

How  puny  life  has  grown  ; 

And  in  the  struggle  only  yearns 

To  guard  and  keep  his  own. 

His  heart,  with  cold,  indifferent  pride 

Even  from  love  now  turns  aside. 


Ah  !    Even  Truth's  celestial  rays 

Can  lose  their  wonted  fire. 

Woe  be  to  them  whose  conscience  pays 

For  knowledge  they  acquire. 

'Tis  well  th'  enthusiast's  warmth  to  share 

With  worldly-wise  yet  prudent  care ! 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  267 

THE   GUIDES   OF   LIEE; 

OB 

THE  BEAUTIFUL  AND  THE  SUBLIME. 

Two    mysterious    powers    in    life's   excursion    attend 
thee. 
Happy  it  is  for  thee  if  they  unite  in  thine  aid. 
One    with     enlivening    art    beguiles    the   wearisome 
journey  :  — 
light,  as  thou  hangst  on  his  arm,  duty  and  destiny 
seem. 
Merrily  he  conducts  till,  liigh  on  the  pinnacle  stand- 
ing, 
Down  he  bids  thee  peer  over  Eternity's  sea. 
Here  with  a  resolute  mien  and  grim  the  other  awaits 
thee, 
Bears  thee  over  the  deep  with  an  imperious  arm. 
Never   alone   in    one    confide:    To    the   former   thine 
honour 
Thou  must  never  entrust,  nor  to  the  latter  thine 
aims. 


AECHIMEDES    AND   THE    SCHOLAR 

Once    on    a    time    an    inquisitive    youth   approached 

Archimedes : 
"  Teach  me,  I  pray,"  he  cried,  "  teach  me  the  heavenly 

art, 
Which  in  thy  competent  hand  to  the  State  such  profit 

has  yielded, 
And  has  guarded  our  walls  'gainst  the  beleaguering 

host." 


268  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

" '  Heavenly '  namest  thou  Art  ?     '  Divine '  she  is,  of  a 
surety," 
Quoth   the  sage,  "  and  was,  ere   she   protected    our 
arms. 
Just  her  fruit  to  attain  the  merest  mortal  is  able ; 
But,  an    a   goddess    ye   woo,   seek    not    a   woman 
alone ! " 

HUMAN   KNOWLEDGE. 

Just  because  thou  readest  in  Nature  what  thou  hast 
written, 
Just  because  thine  eye  all  her  phenomena  marks, 
Eeckoning  on  the  bonds  which  man  upon  Nature  im- 
poses. 
Does  thy  mind  presume  infinite  Nature  to  know. 
So   the  Astronomer's  art    lays   out  the   chart    of    the 
heavens 
Better  his  way  to  steer  through  inaccessible  space ; 
Suns  in  a  focus  he  brings  though  by  infinity  parted, 
Mates  the  distant  swan  with  the  redoubtable  bull. 
But  can  he  comprehend  the  spheres'  mysterious  orbit 
Merely  because  on  a  globe  planets  in  order  appear  ? 

HONOURS. 


How  do  the  flashes  of  hght  on  the  mirror-like  rivulet 


sparkle 


Seems  the  golden  marge  with  its  own  ardour  aglow. 
But    the    ripples    are    carried    adown    the    glittering 
highway 
Forcing    each    other    along,    feather,    and    hasten 
away  :  — 
Such   is   the  fugitive   spark    which  man  denominates 
honour ; 
Not  he  shines,  but  the  scene,  where  he  may  happen 
to  be. 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  269 


THE   TWO    PATHS    OF   VIRTUE. 

Twofold  is  the  road  by  which  a  man  is  exalted ; 

If  in  the  one  he  fail,  open  the  other  appears. 
This  to  patience  appeals,  and  that  to  vigorous  action, 
Happy  the  man  whose  fate  grants  him  a  portion  of 
each. 

ZENITH    AND    NADIR 

EoAM  as  thou  willst   through  space,  thy  zenith    and 
nadir  unite  thee 
Both  to  the  heaven  above,  and  to  the  axis  of  earth. 
Whatsoever  thou  dost,  let   heaven  be  fraught  of  thy 
purpose. 
And  let  earth  itself  witness  afford  to  thy  deed ! 

IDEAL    FREEDOM. 

When  life  comes  to  an  end,  two  roads  before  thee  are 
open ; 

To  th'  ideal  this,  that  to  eternity  leads. 
While  time  still  permits,  be  sure  thou  choose  the  ideal. 

Lest  to  death  thou  drift  under  the  finger  of  fate. 

THE   CHILD    IN   THE   CRADLE. 

Fortunate  babe,  for  thee  there  is  infinite  space  in  a 
cradle. 
But  to  accommodate  man  even  the  universe  fails. 

THE   UNCHANGEABLE. 

Time    irrevocably   flies,    toward    changeless    eternity 
wending. 
Thou  canst  fetter  time  if  thou  art  honest  and  true. 


270  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 


VOTIVE   TABLETS. 

INSPIRATION. 

In  the  organic,  sensitive  world  no  novelty  rises, 

Save  where  flowers  bloom  —  highest  achievement  of 
earth. 

TWO    METHODS. 

Do  what  is  good,  and  man  thou  teachest  all  that  is 
holy ; 
Picture  the  fair,  and  so  sprinkle  the  heavenly  seed. 

DIFFERENT    STANDPOINTS. 

Fashion  has  degrees  in  the  world  :  contemptible  natures 
Reckon  on  what  they  do ;  noble  assert  what  they  are. 

WORTH    and    worthiness. 

If  thou  anything  hast,  why,  let  me  purchase  an  item ; 
If  thou  anything  art,  let  us  effect  an  exchange. 

MORAL   force. 

Lacking  a  sense  of  the  fine,  ye  can  always  cultivate 
reason ; 
What  to  the  man  is  a  blank,  imagination  achieves. 

shares. 

Even  an  impious  hand  can  Truth's  omnipotence  order: 
But  the  measure  to  fill  Beauty  availeth  alone. 

to  X. 

Give  me  a  share  of  thy  knowledge,  and,  friend,  I  will 
eagerly  take  it. 
But  an  thou  offer  thyself,  pray  my  excuses  accept. 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  271 

TO   X.    X. 

Thou    wouldst   teach    me    truth  ?  —  Nay,    spare   the 
trouble !  the  object 
Not  through  thee  do   I   seek ;  by  it  will  estimate 
thee. 

TO    X.    X.    X. 

Thee  would   I  have   for  a  mentor  and  friend.     Thy 
hving  ideal 
Teaches  me,  and  thy  words  sink  to  the  depth  of  my 
heart. 

THE    LEARNED    WORKMAN. 

Never  a  taste  has  he  of  the  fruit  which  springs  from 
his  labour ; 
Appetite  only  enjoys  what  erudition  has  sown. 

THE    PROPER    IDEAL. 

All  may  share  thy  thoughts :  thine  own  is  only  thy 
feeling. 
Wouldest  thou  own  him,  feel,  do  not  imagine,  thy 
God. 

THE   CRITIC. 

Strict  as  my  conscience  itself,  thou  noticest  all  mine 
offences : 
Therefore  I  love  thee  as  well  as  —  mine  own  con- 
science, at  least. 

WISDOM    AND    PRUDENCE. 

Wouldst  thou  attain,  my  friend,  to  the  highest  circles 
of  wisdom  ? 

Venture  on  every  risk  ;  prudence  can  whisper  aside  : 
The  short-sighted  observe  the  receding  river  bank  only, 

Never  the  one  that  will  he  presently  under  thy  feet. 


272  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

AGREEMENT. 

Truth  we  both  of  us  seek ;  thou  in  life's  strenuous 
action, 

I  in  the  heart,  and  so  each  his  desire  attains. 
From  without  the  eye,  if  healthy,  regards  the  Creator, 

And  beholds  within,  as  in  a  mirror,  the  heart. 


MAJESTAS    POPULL 

Majesty  of  maukiud !     In  the  haunts  of  man  shall  I 
seek  thee  ? 

Thou  hast  been  hitherto  with  a  minority  found. 
Only  a  few  there  are  who  count,  the  others  are  ciphers ; 

And  what  prizes  exist  in  the  commotion  are  lost. 

TO    A    REFORMER. 

"  I  HAVE  given  my  all,"  thou  sayst,  "  for  human  advan- 
tage ; 
But  in  vain,  for  I  earned  enmity  only  and  hate." 
Shall  I  explain,  my  friend,  what  my  relation  to  man  is  ? 
Trust  the  proverb,  which  yet  never  has  led  me  astray. 
As  for  Humanity's  self,  who  can  too  highly  esteem  it? 

Be  it  impressed  in  deeds  as  to  thy  soul  it  appears. 
If  in  the  struggle  of  life  some  mortal  jostle  against  thee, 

Help  him,  if  thou  mayst,  with  a  benevolent  hand. 
But  —  for  the  rain  and  dew  and  the  general  good  of 
the  people  — 
Leave  it  to  heaven,  my  friend :  heaven  exists,  as  of 
yore. 

MY    ANTIPATHY. 

Crime  sincerely  I  hate,  and  hate  with  a  special  aversion 
Since  it  brings  in  its  train  wearisome  prattle  of  good. 

"  Good    thou    mockest  ? "  —  Nay,  let  all   continue  its 
practice, 
But,  for  heaven's  sake,  prate  of  it  never  again. 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  273 

TO    THE   ASTRONOMERS. 

Tell  me  no  more,  I  pray,  of  your  suns  and  nebulous 
hazes ; 

Think  you  Nature  is  vast  only  to  set  you  a  sum  ? 
Nothing  in  infinite  space  is  so  august  as  your  object, 

But  there  is  nought  august,  friend,  in  indefinite  space. 


ASTRONOMICAL    LORE. 

Measureless  an  it  extend  —  the  noble  arena  of  heaven. 
Heaven  is  dragged  by  fools  down  to  the  level  of  earth. 

WITHIN    AND    WITHOUT. 

"  God   alone  sees  into  the  heart."     'Tis  an  adequate 
reason 
Why  we  too  should  see  something  of  wholesome 
repute. 

FRIEND    AND    FOE. 

Dearly  I  honour  a  friend,  but  an  enemy  too  has  his 
uses  ; 
Friends  point  out  what  I  can,  enemies  show  what  I 


ought. 


LIGHT   AND    COLOUR. 


Make  thy  lasting  abode  where  fixed  Eternity  dwelleth  ! 
Come,  ye  varying  hues,  come  and  illuminate  man ! 


true    INDIVIDUALITY. 


Single  it  is  thy  lot  to  be  —  not  part  of  a  total  — 
Reason  plants  thee  alone,  and  acquiesces  the  heart. 

Thou  and  thy  heart  are  one,  thy  reason  is  only  a  frag- 
ment. 
Fortunate  thou  if  for  aye  reason  abide  in  thine  heart. 


2  74  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

VAKIETY. 

Plenty  are  good  and  wise,  but  they  only  count  as  a 
sample, 

For  o'er  them  not  heart,  but  an  idea  has  sway. 
And  the  idea  is  sad,  from  a  thousand  varying  emblems 

Nothing  bringing  to  light  but  a  necessitous  one. 
But  life  rollicks  along  content  in  the  presence  of  beauty, 

Knows  in  a  thousand  forms  to  metamorphose  that 

ONE. 

THE  THKEE  AGES  OF  NATUKE. 

Fable  endowed  her  hfe,  by  later  learning  arrested ; 
But  to  an  active  life  reason  attracts  her  anew. 


THE    IMITATOR. 

Good  from  good  to  extract  —  that  hes  in  the  power  of 
all  men  ; 
Good  to  derive  from  ill  Genius  only  achieves. 
Only  on  what  is  achieved  'tis  worth  to  found  imita- 
tions ; 
What  is  original  pleads  only  to  natures  inspired. 


GENIALITY. 

How  does  Genius  stamp  its  presence  ?     Why,  as  the 
Creator 
With  His  presence  adorns  Nature  and  infinite  space. 
Clear  is  the  ether  above,  and  yet  'tis  a   measureless 
ocean, 
Eye  may  see  it  indeed,  but  the  intelligence  fails. 


AN    AWKWARD    COUPLE. 

Why  are  taste  and  genius  only  so  rarely  united  ? 
Taste  is  afraid  of  strength,  genius  hates  to  be  held. 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  275 


COKRECTNESS. 


Free  from  blame  to  appear  is  at  once  the  meanest  and 
highest ; 
It  is  achieved  by  the  great  and  by  the  feeble  alone. 


THE    LAW    OF    NATURE. 


So  it  has  always  been,  my  friend,  and  will  be  for  ever : 
Feebleness  works  by  rule ;  vigour  achieves  a  result. 


CHOICE. 


If  thy  work  and  deeds  are  not  attractive  to  all  men, 
Try  to  attract  the  few :  —  folly  to  humour  a  crowd. 


THE    SCIENCE    OF    MUSIC. 


Art  may  imitate  hfe,  and  a  bard   may  quicken  our 
instincts ; 
But  the  appeal  of  a  soul  only  Polymnia  knows. 


THE    GIRDLE. 

Under    a    girdle    her    grace    Aphrodite    in    mystery 
harbours ; 
Modesty  veiled  it  is  which  her  attraction  adorns. 

THE    DILETTANTE. 

Just  on  the   strength  of   a  verse  achieved,  with  an 
adequate  accent, 
Which  thy   judgment  approves  —  art  thou  a  poet 
indeed  ? 

THE    TATTLER    OF    ART. 

All  that  in  Art  is  best,  thou  askest  ?     But  were  it 
fitting  ? 
Art  thou  worthy  the  good,  antagonistic  in  aim  ? 


276  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 


THE   PHILOSOPHIES. 


Which  will  abide  amid  all  the  philosophies  ?     Marry, 
I  know  not ; 
But  Philosophy's  self  —  may  it  eternally  live. 


THE  BEST   FOPwM  OF   GOVERNMENT. 

That  I  reckon  as  best  which  renders  it  easy  to  all  men 
Good  to  think,  and  yet  forces  a  moral  on  none. 


TO    LEGISLATORS. 

Ye  may  ever  assume  that  man,  as  a  corporate  body, 
Means  well,  but  take  heed  never  to  reckon  on  one. 


THE    WORTHY. 

Pay  respect  to  the  whole :  individuals  only  I  honour 
But  each  one  I  regard  only  as  part  of  a  whole. 


A  FALSE  IMPULSE  TO  STUDY. 

Ah  !     How  many  a  foe  has  Truth  !     My  soul  is  in  an- 
guish 
As  the  owls  I  observe  forcing  a  way  to  the  light. 


REJUVENESCENCE. 

Nay,    'tis   not   a   romance  —  in    streams    adolescence 
aboundeth. 
Where  ?  thou  askest :  —  Apply  to  the  poetical  art. 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  277 


THE  CIKCLE  OF  NATUEE. 

In  thy  happy  domain  is  all  comprised,  and  a  graybeard 
Harks  in  childlike  age  back  to  the  days  of  his  youth. 


THE  GENIUS  WITH  THE  INVERTED  TORCH. 

Fair  he  is  to  behold  with  torch  no  longer  illumined  ; 
But,  my  good  friends.  Death  is  no  apostle  of  art. 


THE   VIRTUE    OF   WOMAN. 

Virtues  a  man  must  have  through  life's  wild  medley 
to  bear  him ; 

So  with  a  fortune  assured  into  the  battle  he  goes. 
But  for  a  woman  enough  is  a  single  virtue,  appealing 

Lovingly  to  the  heart,  and,  let  us  hope,  to  the  eye  ! 


BEAUTY   AT    ITS    BEST. 

Hast  thou  never   beheld    the   fair  in    a  moment    of 
anguish  ? 
Then  never  hast  thou  observed  absolute  beauty  at  all. 
Hast   thou   marked   how  pleasure  illumines  adorable 
features  ? 
No  ?  —  Then  pleasure  to  thee  still  is  a  pleasure  un- 
known. 

THE    FORUM    OF    WOMAN. 

Woman,  do  not  judge  man's  each  individual  action 
Harshly ;  but,  an  ye  will,  criticise  man  as  a  whole. 


278  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 


FEMININE    JUDGMENT. 

Man  relies  on  facts,  but  love  is  the  test  of  a  woman ; 
If  she  do  not  love,  sentence  is  entered  at  once. 


THE   FEMININE   IDEAL. 

TO     AMANDA. 

Woman  in  all  things   yields  to   man,  except  in  the 
highest ; 
There  the  strongest  man  is  of  a  woman  the  slave. 
And  what  is  the  highest  ?     A  radiant  halo  of  glory. 
Such  as,  Amanda,  compels  from  thine  immaculate 
brow. 
When  the  mist  floats  over  the  orb,  his  splendour  ob- 
scuring. 
Fairer  appears  the  scene  drawn  in  the  shimmering 
air. 
Is  man  free  ?     Thou  art !     Thine  indispensable  free- 
dom 
No  hesitation  knows,  never  necessity  heeds. 
What  thou  givest  is  ever  a  wJwle ;  complete  thou  art 
always, 
And  thy  gentlest  chord  is  thine  harmonious  whole. 
Here  is  eternal  youth  in  never  exhausted  abundance, 
And  thou  pluckest  at  once  flower  and  harvest  alike. 


HOPE   AND   FULFILMENT. 

Confident  in  his  ship,  the  youth  goes  down  to  the 
ocean  : 
Gray    he    returns,  and   wrecked,  into   the    harbour 
again. 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  279 


THE    COMMON    LOT. 

How  do  we  quarrel  and  hate,  divided  in  hope  and  in- 
tention ; 
Yet  thy  locks,  hke  mine,  steadily  grizzle  the  while. 

HUMAN  PEKFOEMANCE. 

At  the  beginning  appears  the  road  to  eternity  open, 
But  the  shghtest  bend  even  the  wisest  appals. 

THE    FATHER. 

Steive  as  best  thou  may,  a  lonely  position  awaits  thee, 
TUl  perforce  thou  become  part  of  the  natural  whole. 

LOVE   AND   DESIRE. 

Teue  !     Man  loves  what  he  has,  and  hopes  for  all  that 
he  has  not ; 
None  but  rich  minds  love,  only  the  indigent  ask. 

TRIFLES. 

THE    EIGHT-LINED   STANZA. 

Stanza    thou    wert    by    love    in    its    yearning   fancy 
created  — 
Thrice  thou  fliest  away,  thrice  to  be  with  us  again. 

THE    TKIUMPHAL    AECH. 

"  Feae  ye  not,"  the  master  exclaimed,  "  my  bow  in  the 
heavens ; 
Like  it,  so  shalt  thou  into  eternity  reach." 


28o  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

THE    BEAUTIFUL    BRIDGE. 

Under  me  are  the  waves,  the  wagons  thunder  above 
me; 
Kindly  the  master  allows  me  to  pass  over  as  well. 

GERMANY  AND   HER  PRINCES. 

Many   a   monarch    has   earned    thy    faithful    worthy 
allegiance, 
Only  the    subject's  will  strengthens  the  governor's 
arm. 
Germany,  if  thou  canst,  for  thy  rulers  render  it  harder 
Great  as  kings  to  appear,  easy  to  posture  as  men. 

TO   PROSELYTISERS. 

"  Give  me  a  scrap  of  soil  outside  the  bounds  of  the 
planet," 

Said  the  godlike  man,  "  so  can  I  lever  the  earth." 
But  for  an  instant  take  mine  own  identity  from  me. 

And  in  the  flash  of  an  eye  I  will  appropriate  yours. 

THE   CONNECTING   LINK. 

How  does  Nature  proceed  the  high  and  lowly  to  mingle 
Here  upon  earth  ?     She  lets  vanity  balance  between. 


THE   MOMENT. 

With  the  Century  comes  a  great  and  critical  epoch ; 
But  that  epoch  finds  no  generation  of  worth. 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  281 


GEEMAN   COMEDY. 

Fools  and  caricatures  we  have  indeed  by  the  dozen ; 
But  unluckily  these  comedy  do  not  abet. 

A   BOOKSELLER'S   ADVERTISEMENT. 

Nothing  imports  a  man  so  much  as  to  have  a  vocation  ; 
For   twelve    groschen    in    cash,    friend,    you    may 
purchase  one  here. 

DANGEROUS   CONSEQUENCES. 

Fkiends,  take  heed  before  your  deeper  feelings  avowing; 
Once  committed,  you'll  have  every  one  on  to  your 
back. 

THE   GREEK    SPIRIT. 

Scarce  has  the  agued  chill  of  Gallomania  left  us, 

Than  in  a  feverish  blind  heat  Grecomauia  comes. 
What  did  Greekism   mean  ?      Intelligence,  easy  Pro- 
portion ! 
Then,  good  sirs,  I  beg,  let  Grecomania  lie ! 
Worthy  the  cause  ye  espouse ;  but  pray  pursue  it  in 
reason, 
Lest  to  derision  it  lead,  and  to  derision  alone. 

CHILDREN   OF   THE   SABBATH. 

Years  the  master  strives,  his  object  seldom  achieving ; 

To  a  receptive  race  all  were  explained  in  a  dream. 
What  they  yesterday  learned  to-day  they  would  urge 
upon  others ; 

Ah,  these  gentlemen  have  little  compassion  indeed. 


282  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 


THE   PHILOSOPHEES. 

AKISTOTLE. 

Come    to   the   point,  my   friend ;    we  take   the   Jena 
Gazette  here 
Down  in  Hell,  so  we  know  all  that  a  body  may  need. 

FIRST    PHILOSOPHER. 

Cogito,  ergo  sum.  —  I  think,  so  have  an  existence  ! 
Is  the  premiss  assured,  certainly  true  is  the  rest. 

PUPIL. 

Then  if  I  think,  I  am ;  but  I  can't  be  eternally  think- 
ing. 
And  I  have  lived  for  long,  guiltless  of  ever  a  thought. 

SECOND    PHILOSOPHER. 

Since  existence  there  is,  there  is  also  a  super-existence ; 
In  that  state  we  float,  floundering,  every  one. 

THIRD    PHILOSOPHER. 

I  say  just  the  reverse.     /  only  have  an  existence  ; 
Everything  outside  me  is  but  a  bubble  of  air. 

FOURTH    PHILOSOPHER. 

I  will  admit  two  things  exist  —  a  world  and  a  spirit ; 
Nothing  more,  and  these  really  synonymous  are. 

FIFTH    PHILOSOPHER. 

Of  your  existence  I  know  —  well,  nought  —  and  nought 
of  your  spirit ; 
Both    I    vaguely  discern,  but   they   are   phantoms 
alone. 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  283 


SIXTH    PHILOSOPHEK. 


I  am  I,  and  establish  myself,  and  if  I  establish 

That  disestablished  I  am,  there  is  a  negative  proved. 


PUPIL. 

Oh !  I  observe  when   a    man   has   no   more   sensible 
answer, 
Plump  he  makes  a  plunge  into  the  conscience  at 
once. 

A    POINT    OF   LAW. 

Many  a  year  have  I  used  my  nose  for  the  purpose  of 
smelling; 
Now  I  desire  to  know,  have  I,  as  user,  a  right  ? 


PUFFENDOKF. 

Eather    an   awkward    point !      But  you   prove   early 
possession, 
Which  is  much :  so  I  say,  use  it  again  and  again ! 


SCRUPLES    OF   CONSCIENCE. 

Ever  I  seek  my  friends  to  oblige,  and,  unluckily,  like 
it; 
For  then  conscience  asks:  where  does  the  virtue 
come  in  ? 

CONCLUSION. 

Only  one  method  I  see,  do  what  you  can  to  despise 
them; 
Then  you  may  sulkily  yield  all  that  a  conscience 
demands. 


284  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 


G.  G. 

Man,  considered  alone,  is  a  sensible  creature  accounted ; 
But  regard  him  in  bulk,  and  what  a  blockhead  is 
he! 

A   TRICK. 

WouLDST  thou  please  at  a  stroke  the  pious  and  also 
the  earthly  ? 
Paint  a  voluptuous  scene,  throwing  the  Evil  One  in. 


KNOWLEDGE. 

Knowledge  to  one  appeals  as  a  goddess  indeed ;   to 
another 
Knowledge  is  only  a  cow,  milkable  every  day. 


KANT   AND   HIS   INTEEPRETERS. 

How  one  wealthy  man  can  make  the  indigent  easy ! 
When  a  sovereign  builds,  carters  have  plenty  to  do. 


SHAKESPEARE'S   GHOST. 

(a  paeody.) 

In  the  end  I  beheld  great  Hercules'  wondrous  achieve- 
ments. 
And  his  shade.  —  Himself  was  not,  alas,  to  be  seen. 
Like  birds  screaming  aloft,  I  heard  the  Tragedians'  out- 
cry, 
And  like  yelping  dogs,  bayed  Dramaturgists  around. 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  285 

Terrible  stood  the  monster  there.     His  bow  was  ex- 
tended, 
And  th'  impatient  bolt  steadily  bore  on  the  heart. 
"What   adventurous   act    wouldst    thou,    unfortunate, 
hazard, 
That  thou  seekst  the  damned  here  in  a  bottomless 
hell  ? "  — 
"  I  am  here  to  ask  the  seer  Tiresias  only 
•    Where  I   may  hope  to  find  haply  the   buskin    of 

old."  — 
"  If  they  Nature  despise  and  the  ancient  Greeks,  'tis  a 
pity 
Vainly  to   drag    to    the    fore    thy   dramaturgy    for 
them."  — 
Nature  postures  again  in  our  dramatic  arena. 

Naked  as  she  can  be,  evident  every  rib. 
"  What,  can  you  let  me  see  that  old  and  adorable  bus- 
kin, 
Which    to    attain    I    plunged    into     the    Stygian 
night  ? "  — 
Such  apparitions  are  past,  and  tragedy.     Scarce  in  a 
yard's  length 
Goes  thy  harnessed  soul  grudgingly  on  to  the  boards. 
"  Good  !     Philosophy  has  your  finer  feelings  exalted, 

And  a  humourous  sense  drives  irritation  away."  — 
"  Give  me  a  downright  dry  old  jest  —  'tis  agreeable  fool- 

Though,  if  humid  enough,  sorrow  is  able  to  please."  — 
"  Can  I  note  at  a  glance  Thalia's  exquisite  motions 

And  the  stately  step  taught  by  Melpomene's  art?"  — 
"  Neither  !     We  only  regard  the  moral,  Christian  affec- 
tions, 
Simple    and    homelike    truths,    which    popularity 
bring."  — 
"  What !      No  Caesar   upon    your   boards,  no    mighty 
Achilles  ? 
Is  Andromache  gone  ?  does  not  Orestes  appear  ? "  — 


286  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

"  No  !     But  there  are  priests  and  shrewd  commercial 
attaches, 
Subalterns  aud  scribes,  majors  enough  of  hussars."  — 
"  But,  I  pray  you,  my  friend,  what  can  such  a  laughable 
medley 
Do  that  is   really  great ;    greatness  how  can  they 
achieve  ?  "  — 
"  What  ?     Why,  nurture  cabals,  lend  money  at  usury, 
pocket 
Silver  spoons,  nor  hold  pillory  even  in  awe."  — 
"  Whence,  then,  dost  thou  procure  tliis  Fate  of  appal- 
ling appearance, 
Which  at  a  single  stroke  lifts  and  abases  a  man  ? "  — 
"  Nonsense !     What  we  seek  is  self  and  friends  of  ac- 
quaintance, 
All  our  griefs  and  woes  —  and,  by  the  rood,  they  are 
here."  — 
"  But  all  this  ye  possess  at  home  with  greater  advan- 
tage ; 
Since  ye    seek  yourselves,  why   do  ye  try  to    es- 
cape ? "  — 
"  Do  not  take  it  amiss,  but  that  is  a  separate  problem ; 
Fate  —  why,  fate    is    bhnd ;    poets   are    trusty    for 
aye."  — 
"  So  on  your  own  poor  boards  your  own  poor  nature  is 
acting. 
While  the  good   and  great  never  are  witnessed  at 
all  ? "  — 
"  Well,  the  poet  is  host,  and  a  last  act  brings  retribu- 
tion ; 
When  crime  shirks  the  repast,  virtue  can  elbow  a 
place." 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  287 


THE    EIVERS. 

THE   RHINE. 

True,  as  a  Switzer  should,  I  guard  Germania's  borders  ; 
But  the  patient  stream  leaps  the  excitable  Gaul. 

the    DANUBE    IN    XX. 

Bright  -  eyed  men  I  see  of  Phaeacia  dwelling  around 
me ; 
Merrily  whirls  the  spit,  Sunday  is  ever  at  hand. 

the    ELBE. 

Gibberish  all  of  you  talk  —  of  all  Germania's  waters 
I  true  German  speak  —  truly,  in  Meissen  alone. 

THE  spree. 

Eamler   a  language  supplied,  my   Cnesar  furnished  a 
subject ; 
Choked  at  first,  since  then  never  I  utter  a  word. 

THE    WESER. 

Never  a  single  word,  not  an  epigrammatic  allusion, 
Now  I  think  it  o'er,  unto  the  Muse  I  supply. 

THE    PEGNITZ. 

Long  have  I  suffered,  alas,  from  an   hypochondriacal 
ailment ; 
And  if  I  flow  at  all  —  well,  'tis  my  habit  to  flow. 

THE    anonymous    RIVER. 

Lenten   meats  to  provide  for  the  pious  board   of    a 
bishop, 
Placed  in  an  arid  land  by  the  Creator,  I  flow. 


288  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

LES    FLEUVES    INDISCRETS. 

EiVERS,   hold    your    peace !     Your    lack  of    modesty 
equals 
That  which  exhibited  once  Diderot's  intimate  friend. 


THE   METAPHYSICIAN. 

*'  The  Universe  far,  far  below  me  lies ! 
I  scarcely  see  the  mannikins  of  earth ! 
How  does  my  art,  in  its  transcendent  worth 
Noblest  of  all,  exalt  me  to  the  skies ! " 

So  brags  the  slater  from  his  lofty  perch, 
So  does  that  little  self-important  man, 
Hans  Metaphysicus,  learned  in  research. 
Tell  me,  thou  little  self-important  man. 
Yon  pile,  on  which  so  grandly  thou  dost  glose  — 
Whence  came  it  —  on  what  base  does  it  repose  ? 
How  cam'st  thou  there  —  and,  for  its  callow  height, 
What  serves  it,  but  to  bring  the  plain  in  sight  ? 


THE   WOELDLY  WISE. 

The  law  by  which  each  mundane  thing 
Its  pristine  bulk  and  shape  attained. 
The  peg  whereon  this  earthly  ring 
By  thoughtful  Zeus  was  made  to  cling, 
For  fear  it  should  perchance  be  strained,- 
A  real  genius  I  proclaim 
The  man  who  can  announce  its  name, 
Unless  I  choose  to  aid  his  ken  — 
'Tis :  Twelve  is  different  from  Ten. 

Snow  makes  us  cold,  a  fire  is  hot. 
Upon  two  feet  a  mortal  goes, 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  289 

Across  the  sky  the  sun  doth  trot, 
And,  knowing  logic  ne'er  a  jot. 
All  this  a  man  by  reason  knows. 
But  he  who  Metaphysics  learns 
Knows  that  what  freezes  never  burns, 
That  wet  is  wet,  and  dry  is  dry, 
That  bright  is  bright  can  testify. 

His  noble  epic  Homer  sings. 

The  hero  is  by  peril  cheered, 

The  valiant  man  to  duty  springs  — ■ 

And  did  so  long  before  such  things 

As  the  Philosophers  appeared. 

The  heart  and  genius  have  wrought 

What  Locke  and  Descartes  never  thought, 

Such  do  their  instincts  only  move 

The  possibilities  to  prove. 

In  life  the  strong  is  ever  right. 

The  weak  must  feel  the  mighty's  rage ; 

Who  rules  not  is  a  slavish  wight ; 

Else  things  were  in  a  sorry  plight 

Upon  this  little  earthly  stage. 

Yet  what  would  happen  could  we  scan 

Now  in  its  birth  the  cosmic  plan, 

From  moral  systems  may  be  gained, 

And  everything  at  once  explained. 

"  Man  stands  in  need  of  human  aid 
To  compass  his  appointed  goal ; 
On  the  large  scale  he  loves  to  trade. 
Of  many  drops  the  sea  is  made, 
Whole  torrents  through  the  mill-wheel  roll 
So  flies  the  wolf's  ferocious  brood 
And  states  renounce  internal  feud." 
Thus  Puffendorf  and  Feder  teach. 
And  "  ex  cathedra  "  love  to  preach. 


290  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

Yet  since  the  professional  saw 
To  some  will  e'er  appeal  in  vain, 
Nature  takes  heed  that  not  a  flaw 
Shall  mar  the  chain,  and  by  her  law 
Bids  ripening  fruit  its  hold  retain. 
Till,  then,  philosophy  succeeds 
The  world  in  ruling  with  its  creeds, 
Its  motive  power  she  supplies 
By  hunger  and  by  lovers'  sighs. 


THE   PUPPET-SHOW   OF   LIFE. 

What  ?    Wouldst  thou  see  my  puppet-show  — 

Life  and  the  world  in  miniature  ? 

That  privilege  you  may  secure. 

But  do  not  stand  too  close,  you  know. 
'Tis  only  by  love's  gentle  hght 
Or  Cupid's  torch-flame  seen  aright. 

Yes,  look  !     The  stage  is  never  bare : 

Behold  the  little  child  in  arms. 

The  bouncing  boy,  the  boisterous  youngster's 

charms. 
The  upgrown  fighting  man,  who  all  will  dare. 

Each  has  his  own  success  in  mind. 

But  narrow  is  th'  appointed  way ; 

The  axles  smoke,  the  chariots  sway, 

The  hero  pushes  on,  the  weakling  lags  behind ; 

Pride  meets  with  an  amusing  fall, 

And  the  judicious  conquers  all. 

And  at  the  goal  behold  fair  woman  stands. 
With  fairy  fingers  and  with  eyes  that  plead, 
Eeady  to  give  the  conqueror  his  meed. 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  291 


TO  A  YOUNG  FEIEND  ABOUT  TO  TAKE   UP 

PHILOSOPHY. 

Many  a  task  in   his  youth  the   Grecian  had  to  ac- 
compHsh 
Ere  he  a  coveted  home  could  in  Eleusis  attain. 
Art  thou  ready  thyself  to  approach  that  holy  of  holies, 
Where  her  wondrous  stores  Pallas  Athene  preserves  ? 
Knowest  thou  all  that  awaits  thee  there,  how  dear  is 
the  bargain, 
Which    at   a   cost  defined    purchases   what    is   un- 
known ? 
Hast    thou   vigour    enough    that    hardest    battle    to 
venture. 
Where  the  reflecting  mind,  heart  and  the  conscience 
oppose  ? 
Hast   thou    courage    to    face    fell   doubt's    irresistible 
demon. 
And  like  a  man  to  meet  foes  who  do  battle  within  ? 
Hast  thou  an  innocent  heart,  and  an  eye  sufhciently 
healthy 
Trickery  to  detect  garbed  in  the  semblance  of  truth  ? 
Then,  an  thou  be  not  sure  of  the  guide  in  thine  inti- 
mate bosom. 
Fly  from  the  edge  in  time,  fly  from  the  yawning 
abyss ! 
Many  who   seek  for  light  plunge  headlong  into  the 
darkness  ; 
But  a  child  can  walk  safe  in  the  glimmer  of  eve. 


292  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

THE    POETEY   OF    LIFE. 

TO    X.    X.    X. 

"Who  could  be  satisfied  alone  with  dreams, 
Which  life  illumine  v/ith  but  borrowed  gleams, 
With  mock  procession  leading  hope  astray  ? 
To  me  must  Truth  her  charms  unveiled  display. 
Should  with  my  dream  my  heaven  disappear, 
Should  my  free  spirit,  in  its  bold  career 
Towards  unknown  possibility's  domain. 
Be  hampered  by  the  present's  galling  chain, 
'Twill  learn  at  least  itself  to  bear  a  thrall ; 
And  to  the  sacred  sound  of  duty's  call, 
Or  to  the  more  imperious  call  of  need, 
Will  know  to  render  a  more  willing  heed. 
How  can  a  man  truth's  gentle  rule  forswear, 
And  yet  necessity's  hard  fortunes  bear  ?  " 

Thus,  my  superior  friend,  I  hear  thee  cry 

From  the  safe  niche  which  thine  own  qualms  supply. 

Leaving  mere  semblance  rigidly  alone. 

Struck  by  the  serious  import  of  thy  tone. 

Disperses  in  alarm  th'  immortal  train, 

The  Muse  is  hushed,  the  dancing  hours  refrain. 

The  Goddess  twins,  now  a  dejected  pair. 

Ruefully  twine  the  garlands  in  their  hair, 

Apollo  snaps  in  twain  his  golden  strings, 

Hermes  his  magic  wand  in  fragments  flings. 

From  life's  pale  face  falls  dreamland's  roseate  bloom, 

And  lo,  the  world  unveiled  is  but  a  tomb. 

Fair  Venus'  child  tears  from  before  his  eyes 

Th'  enchanted  veil ;  his  mother,  shrieking,  flies 

Her  godlike  son  a  mortal  to  behold, 

His  ardent  youthful  beauty  sere  and  cold. 

And  even  thy  sweet  lip  and  kiss  grow  chill. 

And  petrifaction  blurs  their  ancient  thrill. 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  293 

TO   MADEMOISELLE   SLEVOIGHT. 

ON    HER   MARRIAGE    TO   DOCTOR    STURM. 

Blessings  attend  thee,  graceful  bride, 
Down  Hymen's  path  about  to  ghde ! 
With  honest  pleasure  we  have  seen 
The  sweetness  of  thy  mind  unfold, 
Thy  charms  assume  a  shapelier  mould. 
Beneath  the  sway  of  love  serene. 
Happy  the  lot  which  thou  hast  found ; 
And  friendship  yields  without  a  smart 
To  the  soft  god  who  holds  thee  bound, 
Who  asks,  and  has  intact,  thy  heart. 

Thy  wedding  garland  bids  prepare 

For  loving  duties,  sacred  care. 

To  which  thy  youthful  heart  was  blind ; 

The  trifling  thoughts  of  childhood's  day, 

The  sports  of  youth,  have  passed  away, 

And  half-forgotten  lie  behind. 

Now  Hymen's  fetters  have  control 

Where  fluttering  love  had  spread  its  bowers ; 

But  for  the  deeply-feeling  soul 

Those  fetters  are  but  chains  of  flowers. 

And  wouldest  thou  the  secret  find 
The  bridal  garland  so  to  wind 
That  it  shall  last  for  ever  green  ? 
It  lies  in  purity  of  heart 
Which  grace  unfading  can  impart 
And  temper  with  a  modest  mien, 
Which  Hke  the  sun's  reflected  glow, 
To  hearts  the  smihng  lustre  lends. 
And  can  a  modest  air  bestow 
On  dignity  which  ne'er  unbends. 


294  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

GREEK   GENIUS. 

TO    MEYEK    IN    ITALY. 

Dumb  to  the  commonplace  host,  who  ply  deaf-hearted 
inquiries, 
Speaks  his  spirit  to  thee,  as  to  an  intimate  friend. 

LINES   WRITTEN   IN   A   FRIEND'S   ALBUM. 

TO  HERE  VON  MECHELN  OF  BASLE. 

Of  inexhaustible  charm  is  the  youthful  beauty  of  nature, 
And  no  less  are  the  charms  of  inexhaustible  art. 

Hail,  esteemed  old  man,  for  tliine  heart  doth  equally 
cherish 
Both,  and  so  thy  life  is  a  perennial  youth. 

THE  GIFT. 

Ring  and  Stafif,  all  hail  on  a  flask  of  genuine  Rhenish ! 

Who  thus  waters  his  sheep,  he  is  a  shepherd  indeed. 

Heavenly  draught !  prescribed,  and  sent  to  me  by  the 

Muses, 

And  upon  which  the  Church  gladly  impresses  her 

seal. 

WILLIAM  TELL.1 

When  angry  forces  'gainst  each  other  rise, 
And  by  bhnd  rage  the  flame  of  war  is  stirred ; 
When  'mid  the  virulence  of  party  cries 
The  voice  of  justice  is  no  longer  heard ; 

1  These  stanzas  were  sent  by  the  author  to  the  Electora  Chan- 
cellor, together  with  a  copy  of  his  play  —  "  William  Tell." 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  295 

When  every  crime  starts  rampant  to  the  skies, 
And  Ucense  at  the  very  shrine  will  gird, 
Cutting  the  cable  which  the  State  maintains  — 
Here  is  no  matter  for  triumphant  strains. 

But  when  a  pastoral  and  simple  race, 
Sufficient  for  itself,  with  no  desires, 
Hurls  off  the  yoke  it  suffered  in  disgrace, 
Which  in  its  wrath  Humanity  admires, 
And  in  its  triumph  wears  a  modest  face  — 
This  is  immortal,  and  our  song  inspires. 
Such  a  presentment  to  unfold  be  mine, 
But  what  is  worthy  is  already  thine. 


TO  THE  HEEEDITAEY  PKINCE  OF  WEIMAR. 

ON    THE    OCCASION    OF    HIS    JOURNEY    TO    PARIS. 

(Sung  in  a  circle  of  intimate  Friends.) 

Now  let  us  one  last  bumper  drain 
To  speed  our  traveller's  way, 
Who  quits  anon  this  quiet  plain 
In  which  he  saw  the  day. 

He  leaves  his  own  ancestral  halls, 
From  loving  arms  he  goes 
To  the  proud  capital,  whose  walls 
Whole  nations'  spoils  enclose. 

Discord  makes  pause,  the  thunders  cease. 
The  very  wars  repose, 
The  craters  we  may  sound  in  peace 
From  which  the  lava  rose. 


296  POEMS   OF  SCHILLER 

May  luck  thy  devious  steps  attend 
Wherever  they  may  roam  ! 
An  honest  heart  did  Nature  lend, 
Oh,  bring  it  honest  home  ! 


Lands  thou  wilt  cross  v^^hich  bore  the  stress 

Of  war's  terrific  strain  ; 

Yet  now  their  smiling  fields  caress 

In  peace  the  golden  grain. 

Old  Father  Rhine  thou  willst  bestride, 
Who  never  will  ignore, 
So  long  his  waters  seaward  glide, 
Thine  ancestor  of  yore. 

Do  homage  to  the  hero's  fame, 
And  pledge  the  noble  Rhine, 
Old  bulwark  of  the  German  name, 
In  his  own  matchless  wine. 


Let  German  spirit  be  thy  guide. 
And  fail  thee  ne'er  a  jot 
When  quivering  to  that  other  side 
Where  German  faith  is  not. 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  NEW  CENTURY. 

TO     X.  X.  X. 

Where  shall  we  find  a  refuge,  noble  friend  ? 
For  peace  and  freedom  on  this  troubled  earth  ? 
The  Century  in  tumult  has  its  end, 
And  murder  dogs  the  new  one  at  its  birth. 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  297 

Burst  are  the  links  uniting  land  with  land, 
And  ancient  dignities  and  forms  decline ; 
The  rush  of  war  the  sea  cannot  withstand, 
Nile  cannot  stem  it,  nor  the  hoary  Khine. 

Two  mighty  nationahties  contend 
For  the  supreme  possession  of  the  world  ; 
Others  their  hopes  of  freedom  may  suspend 
While  thunderbolts  and  tridents  here  are  hurled. 


For  them  must  every  land  its  gold  afford. 
And  as  did  Brennus  in  his  ruder  day, 
So  does  the  Frank  his  heavy  iron  sword 
Throw  in,  the  even  balance  to  outweigh. 

The  Briton  spreads  his  all-pervading  fleet. 
Its  greedy  tentacles  abroad  are  thrown ; 
Amphitrite's  domain  he  would  estreat, 
And  claim  the  whole  of  ocean  for  his  own. 

To  unseen  regions  of  the  Southern  Pole 
His  never-wearied  footsteps  he  directs  ; 
All  shores  and  islands  he  would  fain  control, 
And  Paradise  alone  he  still  respects. 

No  map  or  chart  there  is,  alas !  I  ween, 
In  which  that  happy  country  we  shall  find 
Where  freedom's  garden  is  for  ever  green, 
And  youth  perennial  adorns  mankind. 

In  boundless  range  the  world  before  thee  lies, 
Even  the  shipping  thou  canst  scarce  compute : 
Yet  on  its  platform  of  unstinted  size 
For  elbow  room  some  dozen  must  dispute. 


298  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

In  the  calm  sanctuary  of  the  heart 
Fly  to  a  refuge  from  this  earthly  throng ! 
Dreamland  alone  true  freedom  can  impart 
And  beauty  only  flourishes  in  song. 


THE  POET'S  FAEEWELL. 

The  Muse  is  silent.     On  her  maiden  cheek 

The  blushing  hues  of  modesty  appear, 

As  she  steps  forth  thy  judgment  to  bespeak, 

With  due  respect  indeed,  but  not  with  fear. 

His  commendation  only  she  would  seek 

Who  all  subordinates  to  truth  austere. 

No  heart  but  that  for  which  pure  beauty  glows 

Is  worthy  beauty's  garland  to  impose. 

So  long  alone  these  songs  of  mine  shall  live 

As  they  can  find  a  sympathetic  mind, 

To  wliich  some  brighter  fancies  they  can  give, 

And  urge  a  part  more  noble  and  refined. 

To  distant  ages  they  will  not  survive, 

Their  task  is  done,  and  they  will  fall  behind. 

Merely  the  inspirations  of  a  day, 

In  the  hght  dance  of  time  they  pass  away. 

The  Spring  returns ;  the  comfortable  land 
New  youth  attains  beneath  the  vernal  fire ; 
Entrancing  odours  from  the  shrubs  expand, 
Gay  peals  in  heaven  the  celestial  choir ; 
The  young  and  old  in  one  united  band 
Through  all  their  senses  happiness  respire. 
But  Spring  departs !     To  seed  the  flowers  fall, 
And  of  the  past  no  trace  remains  at  all. 


Semele 

In  Two  Scenes 


Dramatis  Personse 

Juno. 

Semele,  Princess  of  Thebes. 

Jupiter. 

Mercury. 

Scene  —  The  Palace  of  Cadmus  at  Thebes. 


Semele 


Scene  I. 

Juno.  {Descending  from  her  chariot  enveloped  in  a 
cloud.)     Away,  ye  peacocks,  with  my  winged  car ! 
Upon  Cithseron's  cloud-capped  summit  wait ! 

\_The  chariot  and  cloud  vanish. 
Hail,  hail,  thou  house  of  my  undying  anger  ! 
A  fearful  hail  to  thee,  thou  hostile  roof, 
Ye  hated  walls  !  —  This,  this,  then,  is  the  place 
Where  Jupiter  pollutes  his  marriage-bed 
Even  before  the  face  of  modest  day  ! 
'Tis  here,  then,  that  a  woman,  a  frail  mortal, 
A  dust-created  being,  dares  to  lure 
The  mighty  Thunderer  from  out  mine  arms, 
And  hold  him  prisoner  against  her  hps ! 

Juno  !  Juno  !  thought  of  madness  ! 
Thou  all  lonely  and  in  sadness 

Standest  now  on  heaven's  bright  throne ! 
Though  the  votive  smoke  ascendeth. 
Though  each  knee  in  homage  bendeth. 

What  are  they  when  love  has  flown  ? 

To  humble,  alas,  each  too-haughty  emotion 
That  swelled  my  proud  breast,  from  the  foam  of  the 
ocean 

301 


302  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

Fair  Venus  arose,  to  enchant  gods  and  men  ! 
And  the  Fates  my  still  deeper  abasement  decreeing, 
Her  offspring  Hermione  brought  into  being. 

And  the  bliss  once  mine  own  can  ne'er  glad  me  again ! 

Amongst  the  gods  do  I  not  reign  the  queen  ? 

Am  I  not  sister  of  the  Thunderer  ? 

Am  I  not  wife  of  Zeus,  the  lord  of  all  ? 

Groans  not  the  mighty  axis  of  the  heavens 

At  my  command  ?     Gleams  not  Olympus'  crown 

Upon  my  head  ?     Ha  !  now  I  feel  myself  ! 

In  my  immortal  veins  is  Kronos'  blood. 

Eight  royally  now  swells  my  godlike  heart. 

Revenge !  revenge ! 

Shall  she  unpunished  ridicule  my  might  ? 

Unpunished,  discord  roll  amongst  the  gods, 

Inviting  Eris  to  invade  the  courts, 

The  joyous  courts  of  heaven  ?     Vain,  thoughtless  one  ! 

Perish,  and  learn  upon  the  Stygian  stream 

The  difference  'twixt  divine  and  earthly  dust! 

The  giant-armour,  may  it  weigh  thee  down  — 

Thy  passion  for  a  god  to  atoms  crush  thee ! 

Armed  with  revenge,  as  with  a  coat  of  mail, 

I  have  descended  from  Olympus'  heights. 

Devising  sweet,  ensnaring,  flattering  words ; 

But  in  those  words,  death  and  destruction  lurk. 

Hark  !  'tis  her  footstep  !  she  approaches  now  — 

Approaches  ruin  and  a  certain  death  ! 

Veil  thyself,  goddess,  in  a  mortal  form  !  [Exit. 

Semele.  (^Calling  behind  the  scenes.^    The  sun  is  fast 
declining  !     Maidens,  haste, 
Scatter  ambrosial  fragrance  through  the  hall. 
Strew  roses  and  narcissus  flowers  around. 
Forgetting  not  the  gold-embroidered  pillow. 
He  comes  not  yet  —  the  sun  is  fast  declining  — 

Juno.   (Hastily  entering  in  the  form  of  an  old  woman.) 
Praised  be  the  deities,  my  dearest  daughter ! 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  303 

Semele.     Ha !  Do  I  dream  ?    Am  I  awake  ?    Gods ! 
Beroe ! 

Juno.     Is't  possible  that  Semele  can  e'er 
Forget  her  nurse  ? 

Semele.  'Tis  Beroe  !     By  Zeus  ! 

Oh,  let  thy  daughter  clasp  thee  to  her  heart ! 
Thou  livest  still  ?     What  can  have  brought  thee  here 
From  Epidaurus  ?     Tell  me  all  thy  tale  ! 
Thou  art  my  mother  as  of  old  ? 

Juno.  Thy  mother ! 

Time  was  thou  call'dst  me  so. 

Semele.  Thou  art  so  still. 

And  wilt  remain  so,  till  I  drink  full  deep 
Of  Lethe's  maddening  draught. 

Juno.  Soon  Beroe 

Will  drink  oblivion  from  the  waves  of  Lethe ; 
But  Cadmus'  daughter  ne'er  will  taste  that  draught. 

Semele.     How,    my    good    nurse?     Thy    language 
ne'er  was  wont 
To  be  mysterious  or  of  hidden  meaning ; 
The  spirit  of  gray  hairs  'tis  speaks  in  thee ; 
Thou  say  est  I  ne'er  shall  taste  of  Lethe's  draught  ? 

Juno.     I  said  so,  yes !     But  wherefore  ridicule 
Gray  hairs  ?     'Tis  true  that  they,  unlike  fair  tresses, 
Have  ne'er  been  able  to  ensnare  a  god  ! 

Semele.     Pardon  poor  thoughtless  me !    What  cause 
have  I 
To  ridicule  gray  hairs  ?     Can  I  suppose 
That  mine  for  ever  fair  will  grace  my  neck  ? 
But  what  was  that  I  heard  thee  muttering 
Between  thy  teeth  ?     A  god  ? 

Juno.  Said  I  a  god  ? 

The  deities  in  truth  dwell  everywhere  ! 
'Tis  good  for  earth's  frail  children  to  implore  them. 
The  gods  are  found  where  thou  art  —  Semele  ! 
What  wouldst  thou  ask  ? 

Semele.     Mahcious  heart !     But  say  : 


304  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

What  brings  thee  to  this  spot  from  Epidaurus  ? 

'Tis    not    because   the   gods    delight    to    dwell    near 

Semele  ? 
Juno,         By  Jupiter,  nought  else  !  — 
What  fire  was  that  which  mounted  to  thy  cheeks 
When  I  pronounced  the  name  of  Jupiter  ? 
Nought  else,  my  daughter !     Fearfully  the  plague 
At  Epidaurus  rages ;  every  blast 
Is  deadly  poison,  every  breath  destroys ; 
The  son  his  mother  burns,  his  bride  the  bridegroom ; 
The  funeral  piles  rear  up  their  flaming  heads, 
Converting  even  midnight  to  bright  day, 
While  howls  of  anguish  ceaseless  rend  the  air ; 
Full  to  overflowing  is  the  cup  of  woe !  — 
In  anger,  Zeus  looks  down  on  our  poor  nation ; 
In  vain  the  victim's  blood  is  shed,  in  vain 
Before  the  altar  bows  the  priest  his  knee  ; 
Deaf  is  his  ear  to  all  our  supplications  — 
Therefore  my  sorrow-stricken  country  now 
Has  sent  me  here  to  Cadmus'  regal  daughter, 
In  hopes  that  I  may  move  her  to  avert 
His  anger  from  us  —  "  Beroe,  the  nurse. 
Has  influence,"  thus  they  said,  "  with  Semele, 
And  Semele  with  Zeus  "  —  I  know  no  more. 
And  understand  still  less  what  means  the  saying, 
That  Semele  such  influence  has  with  Zeus. 

Semele.  {Eagerly  and   thoiightlessly.)     The   plague 

shall  cease  to-morrow  !     Tell  them  so  ! 
Zeus  loves  me !     Say  so  !     It  shall  cease  to-day  ! 
Juno.  [Starting  up  in  astonishment)     Ha  !     Is  it 

true  what  fame  with  thousand  tongues 
Has  spread  abroad  from  Ida  to  Mount  Hsemus  ? 
Zeus  loves  thee  ?     Zeus  salutes  thee  in  the  glory 
Wherein  the  denizens  of  heaven  regard  him, 
When  in  Saturnia's  arms  he  sinks  to  rest  ? 
Let,  O  ye  gods,  my  gray  hairs  now  descend 
To  Orcus'  shades,  for  I  have  hved  enough ! 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  305 

In  godlike  splendour  Kronos'  mighty  son 
Comes  down  to  her,  —  to  her,  who  on  this  breast 
Once  suckled  —  yes !  to  her  — 

Semele.  Oh,  Beroe ! 

In  youthful  form  he  came,  in  lovelier  guise 
Than  they  who  from  Aurora's  lap  arise  ; 
Fairer  than  Hesper,  breathing  incense  dim,  — 
In  floods  of  ether  steeped  appeared  each  hmb ; 
He  moved  with  graceful  and  majestic  motion, 
Like  silvery  billows  heaving  o'er  the  ocean, 
Or  as  Hyperion,  whose  bright  shoulders  ever 
His  bow  and  arrow  bear,  and  clanging  quiver ; 
His  robe  of  light  behind  him  gracefully 
Danced  in  the  breeze,  his  voice  breathed  melody, 
Like  crystal  streams  with  silvery  murmur  falling. 
More  ravishing  than  Orpheus'  strains  enthralling. 

Juno.     My  daughter  !     Inspiration  spurs  thee  on, 
Raising  thy  heart  to  flights  of  Helicon  ! 
If  thus  in  strains  of  Delphic  ecstasy 
Ascends  the  short-hved  blissful  memory 
Of  his  bright  charms,  —  Oh,  how  divine  must  be 
His  own  sweet  voice,  —  his  look  how  heavenly ! 
But  why  of  that  great  attribute 
Kronion  joys  in  most,  be  mute,  — 
The  majesty  that  hurls  the  thunder, 
And  tears  the  fleeting  clouds  asunder  ? 
Wilt  thou  say  nought  of  that  alone  ? 
Prometheus  and  Deucahon 
May  lend  the  fairest  charms  of  love, 
But  none  can  wield  the  bolt  save  Jove ! 
The  thunderbolt  it  is  alone 
Which  he  before  thy  feet  laid  down 
That  proves  thy  right  to  beauty's  crown. 

Semele.     What  sayest  thou  ?     What  are  thunder- 
bolts to  me  ? 

Juno.     {Smiling.)    Ah,    Semele '     A    jest    becomes 
thee  well ! 


3o6  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

Semele.     Deucalion  has  no  offspring  so  divine 
As  is  my  Zeus  —  of  thunder  nought  I  know. 

Juno.     Mere  envy  !     Fie  ! 

Semele.  No,  Beroe  !     By  Zeus ! 

Juno.     Thou  swearest  ? 

Semele.  By  Zeus  !  by  mine  own  Zeus ! 

Juno.     {Shrieking.)  Thou  swearest  ? 
Unhappy  one ! 

Semele.     {In  alarm.)  What  meanest  thou,  Beroe  % 

Juno.     Repeat  the    word   that  dooms  thee  to  be- 
come 
The  wretchedest  of  all  on  earth's  wide  face  !  — 
Alas,  lost  creature  !     'Twas  not  Zeus  ! 

Semele.  Not  Zeus  ? 

Oh,  fearful  thought ! 

Juno.  A  cunning  traitor  'twas 

From  Attica,  who,  'neath  a  godhke  form, 
Eobbed  thee  of  honour,  shame,  and  innocence !  — 

[Semele  sinks  to  the  ground. 
Well  mayest  thou  fall !    Ne'er  may  est  thou  rise  again  ! 
May  endless  night  enshroud  thine  eyes  in  darkness, 
May  endless  silence  round  thine  ears  encamp ! 
Remain  for  ever  here  a  hfeless  mass ! 
Oh,  infamy  !     Enough  to  hurl  chaste  day 
Back  into  Hecate's  gloomy  arms  once  more ! 
Ye  gods !     And  is  it  thus  that  Beroe 
Finds  Cadmus'  daugliter,  after  sixteen  years 
Of  bitter  separation  !     Full  of  joy 
I  came  from  Epidaurus ;  but  with  shame 
To  Epidaurus  must  retrace  my  steps.  — 
Despair  I  take  with  me.     Alas,  my  people  ! 
E'en  to  the  second  Deluge  now  the  plague 
May  rage  at  will,  may  pile  mount  Q^ta  high 
With  corpses  upon  corpses,  and  may  turn 
All  Greece  into  one  mighty  charnel-house, 
Ere  Semele  can  bend  the  angry  gods. 
I,  thou,  and  Greece,  and  all,  have  been  betrayed  ! 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  307 

Semele.      {Tremhling  as  she  7nses,  and  extending  an 
arm  towards  her.)     Oh,  Beroe  ! 

Juno.  Take  courage,  my  dear  heart ! 

Perchance  'tis  Zeus !  although  it  scarce  can  be ! 
Perchance  'tis  really  Zeus  !     This  we  nuist  learn  ! 
He  must  disclose  himself  to  thee,  or  thou 
Must  fly  his  sight  for  ever,  and  devote 
The  monster  to  the  death-revenge  of  Thebes. 
Look  up,  dear  daughter  —  look  upon  the  face 
Of  thine  own  Beroe,  who  looks  on  thee 
With  sympathising  eyes  —  my  Semele, 
Were  it  not  well  to  try  him  ? 

Semele.  No,  by  heaven ! 

I  should  not  find  him  then  — 

Juno.  What !     Wilt  thou  be 

Perchance  less  wretched,  if  thou  pinest  on 
In  mournful  doubt  ?  —  and  if  'tis  really  he,  — 

Semele.     (Hiding  her  face  in  Juno's  lap.)  Ah  !  'tis 
not  he ! 

Juno.         And  if  he  came  to  thee 
Arrayed  in  all  the  majesty  wherein 
Olympus  sees  him  ?     Semele !     What  then  ? 
Wouldst  thou  repent  thee  then  of  having  tried  him  ? 

Semele.     {Springing  up.)  Ha !  be  it  so  !     He  must 
unveil  himself ! 

Juno.     [Hastily.)  Thou  must  not  let  him  sink  into 
thine  arms 
Till  he  unveils  himself  —  so  hearken,  child, 
To  what  thy  faithful  nurse  now  counsels  thee, — 
To  what  affection  whispers  in  mine  ear, 
And  will  accomplish  !  —  Say  !  will  he  soon  come  ? 

Semele.     Before  Hyperion  smks  in  Thetis'  bed, 
He  promised  to  appear. 

Juno.      (^Forgetting  herself  hastily.^  Is't  so,  indeed  ? 
He    promised  ?     Ha !     To-day  ?     {Recovering   herself.) 

Let  him  approach, 
And  when  he  would  attempt,  inflamed  with  love, 


3o8  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

To  clasp  his  arms  around  thee,  then  do  thou, — 

Observe  me  well,  —  as  if  by  lightning  struck, 

Start  back  in  haste.     Ha  !  picture  his  surprise  ! 

Leave  him  not  long  in  wonderment,  my  child ; 

Continue  to  repulse  him  with  a  look 

As  cold  as  ice  —  more  wildly,  with  more  ardour 

He'll  press  thee  then  —  the  coyness  of  the  fair 

Is  but  a  dam,  that  for  awhile  keeps  back 

The  torrent,  only  to  increase  the  flood 

With  greater  fury.     Then  begin  to  weep : 

'Gainst  giants  he  might  stand,  —  look  calmly  on 

When  Typheus,  hundred-armed,  in  fury  hurled 

Mount  Ossa  and  Olympus  'gainst  his  throne : 

But  Zeus  is  soon  subdued  by  beauty's  tears. 

Thou  smilest  ?  —  Be  it  so  !     Is,  then,  the  scholar 

Wiser,  perchance,  than  she  who  teaches  her  ?  — 

Then  thou  must  pray  the  god  one  little,  little 

Most  innocent  request  to  grant  to  thee  — 

One  that  may  seal  his  love  and  godhead  too. 

He'll  swear  by  Styx.     The  Styx  he  must  obey ! 

That  oath  he  dares    not    break !     Then    speak    these 

words : 
"  Thou  shalt  not  touch  this  body,  till  thou  comest 
To  Cadmus'  daughter  clothed  in  all  the  might 
Wherein  thou  art  embraced  by  Kronos'  daughter!" 
Be  not  thou  terrified,  my  Semele, 
If  he,  in  order  to  escape  thy  wish, 
As  bugbears  paints  the  horrors  of  his  presence  — 
Describes  the  flames  that  round  about  him  roar, 
The  thunder  round  him  rolUng  when  he  comes : 
These,  Semele,  are  nought  but  empty  fears  — 
The  gods  dislike  to  show  to  us  frail  mortals 
These  the  most  glorious  of  their  attributes ; 
Be  thou  but  obstinate  in  thy  request, 
And  Juno's  self  will  gaze  on  thee  with  envy. 

Semele.     The  frightful   ox-eyed  one !     How  often 
he 


POEMS  OF   SCHILLER  309 

Complains,  in  the  blest  moments  of  our  love, 
Of  her  tormenting  him  with  her  black  gall  — 

Juno.     {Aside,  furiously,  hut  with  embarrassment.) 
Ha !  creature  !     Thou  shalt  die  for  this  contempt ! 

Semele.     My  Beroe !     What  art  thou  murmuring 
there  ? 

Juno,     (/ti  confusion.^  Nothing,  my  Semele  !  Black 
gall  torments 
Me  also  —  Yes  !  a  sharp,  reproachful  look 
With  lovers  often  passes  as  black  gall  — 
Yet  ox-eyes,  after  all,  are  not  so  ugly. 

Semele.     Oh,  Beroe,  for  shame  !  they're   quite  the 
worst 
That  any  head  can  possibly  contain  ! 
And  then  her  cheeks  of  green  and  yellow  hues. 
The  obvious  penalty  of  poisonous  envy  — 
Zeus  oft  complains  to  me  that  that  same  shrew 
Each  night  torments  him  with  her  nauseous  love, 
And  with  her  jealous  whims,  —  enough,  I'm  sure, 
Into  Ixion's  wheel  to  turn  all  heaven. 

Juno.     (Baimig  up  avid  down  in  extreme  confusion.) 
No  more  of  this ! 

Semele.  What,  Beroe  !     So  angi-y  ? 

Have  I  said  more  than  what  is  true  ?     Said  more 
Than  what  is  wise  ? 

Juno.  Thou  hast  said  more,  young  woman, 

Than  what  is  true  —  said  more  than  what  is  wise ! 
Deem  thyself  truly  blest,  if  thy  blue  eyes 
Smile  thee  not  into  Charon's  bark  too  soon ! 
Saturnia  has  her  altars  and  her  temples. 
And  wanders  amongst  mortals  —  that  great  goddess 
Avenges  nought  so  bitterly  as  scorn. 

Semele.     Here  let  her  wander,  and  give   birth  to 
scorn ! 
What  is't  to  me  ?  —  My  Jupiter  protects 
My  every  hair,  —  what  harm  can  Juno  do  ? 
But  now,  enough  of  this,  my  Beroe ! 


3IO  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

Zeus  must  appear  to-day  in  all  his  glory ; 
And  if  Saturuia  should  on  that  account 
Find  out  the  path  to  Orcus  — 

Juno.     (Aside.)  That  same  path  * 

Another  probably  will  find  before  her, 
If  but  Kronion's  lightuiug  hits  the  mark !  — 

{To  Semele.)     Yes,  Semele,  she  well  may  burst  with 
envy 
"When  Cadmus'  daughter,  in  the  sight  of  Greece, 
Ascends  in  triumph  to  Olympus'  heights!  — 

Semele.     (Smiling  gently.)      Thiukest   thou  they'll 

hear  in  Greece  of  Cadmus'  daughter  ? 
Juno.     From  Sidon  to  Athens  the  trumpet  of  fame 
Shall  ring  with  no  other  but  Semele's  name ! 
The  gods  from  the  heavens  shall  even  descend. 
And   before   thee  their  knees  in  deep  homage  shall 

bend, 
While  mortals  in  silent  submission  abide 
The  will  of  the  giant-destroyer's  loved  bride ; 
And  when  distant  years  shall  see 
Thy  last  hour  — 

Semele.     (Springing  up,  and  falling  on  her  neck.) 

Oh,  Beroe ! 
Juno.     Then  a  tablet  white  shall  bear 
This  inscription  graven  there : 
Here  is  worshipped  Semele ! 
Who  on  earth  so  fair  as  she  ? 
She  who  from  Olympus'  throne 
Lured  the  thunder-liurler  down  ! 
She  who,  with  her  kisses  sweet. 
Laid  him  prostrate  at  her  feet ! 
And  when  fame  on  her  thousand  wings  bears  it  around, 
The  echo  from  valley  and  hill  shall  resound. 

Semele.     (Beside  herself.)     Pythia  !    Apollo  !  Hear  ! 

When,  oh,  when  will  he  appear  ? 
Juno.     And  on  smoking  altars  they 

Eites  divine  to  thee  shall  pay  — 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  311 

Semele.     (Inspired.)     I  will  harken  to  their  prayer, 
And  will  drive  away  their  care, — 
Quench  with  my  tears  the  lightning  of  great  Jove, 
His  breast  to  pity  with  entreaty  move ! 

Juno.  {Aside.)     Poor   thing!    that    wilt   thou  ne'er 

have  power  to  do.  (Meditating.) 

Ere    long    will  melt  .  .  .  yet  —  yet  —  she  called   me 

ugly !  — 
No  pity  only  when  in  Tartarus ! 
{To  Semele.)    Fly  now,  my  love  !     Make  haste  to  leave 

this  spot, 
That  Zeus  may  not  observe  thee  —  Let  him  wait 
Long  for  thy  coming,  that  he  with  more  fire 
May  languish  for  thee  — 

Semele.  Beroe !     The  heavens 

Have  chosen  thee  their  mouthpiece  !     Happy  I ! 
The  gods  from  Olympus  shall  even  descend, 
And  before  me  their  knees  in  deep  homage  shall  bend, 
While  mortals  in  silent  submission  abide  — 
But  hold  !  —  'tis  time  for  me  to  haste  away  ! 

\^Exit  hurriedly. 
Juno.     {Looking  after  her  with  exultation)     Weak, 

proud,  and  easily  deluded  woman ! 
His  tender  looks  shall  be  consuming  fire  — 
His  kiss,  annihilation  —  his  embrace, 
A  raging  tempest  to  thee  !     Human  frames 
Are  powerless  to  endure  the  dreaded  presence 
Of  him  who  wields  the  thunderbolt  on  high ! 

{With  raving  ecstasy) 
Ha !  when  her  waxen  mortal  body  melts 
Within  the  arms  of  him,  the  fire-distilling. 
As  melts  the  fleecy  snow  before  the  heat 
Of  the  bright  sun  —  and  when  the  perjured  one, 
In  place  of  his  soft  tender  bride,  embraces 
A  form  of  terror  —  with  what  ecstasy 
Shall  I  gaze  downward  from  Cithseron's  height, 
Exclaiming,  so  that  in  his  hand  the  bolt 


312  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

Shall  quake :  "  For  shame,  Saturnius  !    Fie,  for  shame ! 
What  need  is  there  for  thee  to  clasp  so  roughly  ? " 

[Exit  hastily. 
(A  Symphony.) 

Scene    II.  —  Tlie  Hall  as  before.  —  Sudden  brightness. 

Zeus    in    the   shape  of  a   youth.  —  Mercuky  in    the 

distance. 

Zeus.     Thou  son  of  Maia ! 

Mercury.     {Kneeling,  with  his  head  bowed  reveren- 
tially.) Zeus ! 

Zeus!  Up!     Hasten!     Turn 

Thy  pinions'  flight  toward  far  Scamander's  bank ! 
A  shepherd  there  is  weeping  o'er  the  grave 
Of  his  loved  shepherdess.     No  one  shall  weep 
When  Zeus  is  loving.     Call  the  dead  to  life ! 

Mercury.      {Rising.)      Let    but   thy    head   a   nod 
almighty  give, 
And  in  an  instant  I  am  there,  —  am  back 
In  the  same  instant  — 

Zeus.  Stay  !  As  I  o'er  Argos 

Was  flying,  from  my  temples  curling  rose 
The  sacrificial  smoke :  it  gave  me  joy 
That  thus  the  people  worship  me  —  so  fly 
To  Ceres,  to  my  sister,  —  thus  speaks  Zeus : 
"  Ten  thousandfold  for  fifty  years  to  come 
Let  her  reward  the  Argive  husbandmen  !  "  — 

Mercury.     With  trembling    haste    I    execute   thy 
wrath,  — 
With  joyous  speed  thy  messages  of  grace. 
Father  of  all !     For  to  the  deities 
'Tis  bliss  to  make  man  happy ;  to  destroy  him 
Is  anguish  to  the  gods.     Thy  will  be  done ! 
Where  shall  I  pour  into  thine  ears  their  thanks,  — 
Below  in  dust,  or  at  thy  throne  on  high  ? 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  313 

Zeus.     Here  at  my  throne  on  earth  —  within  the 
palace 
Of  Semele  !     Away  !  [Exit  Mercury. 

Does  she  not  come, 
As  is  her  wont,  Olympus'  mighty  king 
To  clasp  against  her  rapture-swelling  breast  ? 
Why  hastens  not  my  Semele  to  meet  me  ? 
A  vacant,  deathlike,  fearful  silence  reigns 
On  every  side  around  the  lonely  palace, 
So  wont  to  ring  with  wild  bacchantic  shouts  — 
No  breath  is  stirring  —  on  Citheeron's  height 
Exulting  Juno  stands.     Will  Semele 
Never  again  make  haste  to  meet  her  Zeus  ? 

(A  pause,  after  which  he  continues.) 
Ha !  Can  yon  impious  one  perchance  have  dared 
To  set  her  foot  in  my  love's  sanctuary  ?  — 
Saturnia  —  Mount  Cithseron  —  her  rejoicings ! 
Fearful  foreboding  !  —  Semele  —  yet  peace  !  — 
Take  courage  !  —  I'm  thy  Zeus !  the  scattered  heavens 
Shall  learn,  my  Semele,  that  I'm  thy  Zeus ! 
Where  is  the  breath  of  air  that  dares  presume 
Eoughly  to  blow  on  her  whom  Zeuz  calls  His  ? 
I  scoff  at  all  her  malice.  —  Where  art  thou, 
O  Semele  ?     I  long  have  pined  to  rest 
My  world-tormented  head  upon  thy  breast,  — 
To  lull  my  wearied  senses  to  repose 
From  the  wild  storm  of  earthly  joys  and  woes, — 
To  dream  away  the  emblems  of  my  might. 
My  reins,  my  tiller,  and  my  chariot  bright. 
And  live  for  nought  beyond  the  joys  of  love ! 
Oh,  heavenly  inspiration,  that  can  move 
Even  the  Gods  divine !     What  is  the  blood 
Of  mighty  Uranus  —  what  all  the  flood 
Of  nectar  and  ambrosia  —  what  the  throne 
Of  high  Olympus  —  what  the  power  I  own, 
The  golden  sceptre  of  the  starry  skies  — 
What  the  omnipotence  that  never  dies. 


314  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

What  might  eternal,  immortality  — 

Wliat  e'eu  a  god,  oh,  love,  if  reft  of  thee  ? 

The  shepherd  who,  beside  the  murmuring  brook, 

Leans  on  his  true  love's  breast,  nor  cares  to  look 

After  his  straying  lambs,  in  that  sweet  hour 

Envies  me  not  my  thunderbolt  of  power ! 

She  comes  —  she  hastens  nigh  !     Pearl  of  my  works, 

Woman !  the  artist  who  created  thee 

Should  be  adored.     'Twas  I  —  myself  I  worship  : 

Zeus  worships  Zeus,  for  Zeus  created  thee. 

Ha !  Who  will  now,  in  all  the  being-realm. 

Condemn  me  ?     How  unseen,  yes,  how  despised 

Dwindle  away  my  worlds,  my  constellations 

So  ray-diffusing,  all  my  dancing  systems, 

What  wise  men  call  the  music  of  my  spheres !  — 

How  dead  are  all  when  weighed  against  a  soul ! 

(Scniele  approaches,  vntliout  looking  up) 
My  pride!  my  throne  on  earth  !     Oh,  Semele  ! 

{He  rushes  toward  her ;  she  seeks  tofiy.) 
Thou  flyest  ?  —  art  mute  ?  —  Ha  !   Semele !  thou  flyest  ? 

Semele.     {Repulsing  him.)     Away ! 

Zeus.     {After  a  pause  of  astonishment)     Is  Jupiter 
asleep  ?     Will  Nature 
Rush  to  her  fall  ?  —  Can  Semele  speak  thus  ?  — 
What,  not  an  answer  ?     Eagerly  mine  arms 
Toward  thee  are  stretched  —  my  bosom  never  throbbed 
Responsive  to  Agenor's  daughter,  —  never 
Throbbed  against  Leda's  breast,  —  my  lips  ne'er  burned 
For  the  sweet  kiss  of  prisoned  Danae, 
As  now  — 

Semele.     Peace,  traitor  !     Peace ! 

Zeus.       ( With    displeasure,    hut    tenderly.)        My 
Semele  ! 

Semele.     Out  of  my  sight ! 

Zeus.     {Looking  at  her  with  majesty).     Know,  I  am 
Zeus ' 

Semele.     Thou  Zeus  ? 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  315 

Tremble,  Salmoneus,  for  he  fearfully 

Will  soon  demand  again  the  stolen  charms 

That  thou  hast  robbed  him  of  —  thou  art  not  Zeus  ! 

Zeus.     (With  dignity.)    The  mighty  universe  around 
me  whirls, 
And  calls  me  so  — 

Semele.  Ha  !  Fearful  blasphemy  ! 

Zeus.     {More  gently.)  How,  my  divine  one  ?  Where- 
fore such  a  tone  ? 
What  reptile  dares  to  steal  thine  heart  from  me  ? 

Semele.     My  heart  was  vowed  to  him  whose  ape 
thou  art ! 
Men  ofttimes  come  beneath  a  godlike  form 
To  snare  a  woman.     Hence  !  thou  art  not  Zeus ! 

Zeus.     Thou  doubtest  ?     What !     Can  Semele  still 
doubt 
My  godhead  ? 

Semele.     {Mournfully.)       Would   that   thou    wert 
Zeus !     No  son 
Of  morrow-nothingness  shall  touch  this  mouth  ; 
This  heart  is  vowed  to  Zeus !     Would  thou  wert  he ! 

Zeus.     Thou     weepest  ?       Zeus    is    here,  —  weeps 
Semele  ?  (Falling  down  before  her.) 

Speak !     But  command  !  and  then  shall  slavish  nature 
Lie  trembling  at  the  feet  of  Cadmus'  daughter ! 
Command !  and  streams  shall  instantly  make  halt  — 
And  Hehcon,  and  Caucasus,  and  Cynthus, 
And  Athos,  Mycale,  and  Ehodope,  and  Pindus, 
Shall  burst  their  bonds  when  I  order  it  so. 
And  kiss  the  valleys  and  plains  below, 
And  dance  in  the  breeze  hke  flakes  of  snow. 
Command  !  and  the  winds  from  the  east  and  the  north, 
And  the  fierce  tornado  shall  sally  forth, 
While  Poseidon's  trident  their  power  shall  own. 
When  they  shake  to  its  base  his  watery  throne ; 
The  billows  in  angry  fury  shall  rise, 
And  every  sea-mark  and  dam  despise ; 


3i6  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

The   lightning    shall    gleam    through    the    firmament 

black 
While  the  poles  of  earth  and  of  heaven  shall  crack, 
The  ocean  the  heights  of  Olympus  explore, 
From  thousandfold  jaws  with  wild  deafening  roar 
The  thunder  shall  howl,  while  with  mad  jubilee 
The  hurricane  fierce  sings  in  triumph  to  thee. 
Command  — 

Semele.     I'm  but  a  woman,  a  frail  woman  ! 
How  can  the  potter  bend  before  his  pot  ? 
How  can  the  artist  kneel  before  his  statue  ? 

Zeus.     Pygmalion  bowed  before  his  masterpiece  — 
And  Zeus  now  worships  his  own  Semele ! 

Semele.     ( Weeping  bitterly.)     Arise  —  arise  !  Alas  ! 
for  us  poor  maidens  ! 
Zeus  has  my  heart,  gods  only  can  I  love, 
The  gods  deride  me,  Zeus  despises  me  ! 

Zeus.     Zeus  who  is  now  before  thy  feet  — 
Semele.  Arise ! 

Zeus  reigns  on  high,  above  the  thunderbolts, 
And,  clasped  in  Juno's  arms,  a  reptile  scorns. 

Zeus.     {Hastily.)      Ha !       Semele    and    Juno !  — 

which  tlie  reptile ! 
Semele.     How  blessed  beyond  all  utterance  would 
be 
Cadmus'  daughter  —  wert  thou  Zeus  !     Alas  ! 
Thou  art  not  Zeus ! 

Zeus.     (Arises.)     I  am ! 

(He  extends  his  hand,  and  a  rainhotv  Jills  the  hall ; 
music  accompanies  its  appearance.) 
Knowest  thou  me  now  ? 
Semele.     Strong  is  that   mortal's  arm  whom  gods 
protect, 
Saturnius  loves  thee  — none  can  /  e'er  love 
But  deities  — 

Zeus.  What !  art  thou  doubting  still 

Whether  my  might  is  lent  me  by  the  gods 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  317 

And  not  god-born  ?     The  gods,  my  Semele, 
In  charity  oft  lend  their  strength  to  man ; 
Ne'er  do  the  deities  their  terrors  lend  — 
Death  and  destruction  is  the  godhead's  seal  — 
Bearer  of  death  to  thee  were  Zeus  unveiled ! 

(ZTe  extends  his  hand.  Thunder,  fire,  smoke,  and 
earthquake.  Music  accom].) aides  the  spell  here 
and  subsequently .) 

■Semele.      Withdraw,    withdraw    thy    hand  !  —  Oh, 
mercy,  mercy, 
For  the  poor  nation  !     Yes,  thou  art  the  child 
Of  great  Saturnius  — 

Zeus.  Ha  !  thou  thoughtless  one ! 

Shall  Zeus,  to  please  a  woman's  stubbornness, 
Bid  planets  whirl,  and  bid  the  suns  stand  still  ? 
Zeus  ivill  do  so !  —  oft  has  a  god's  descendant 
Eipped  up  the  fire-impreguate  womb  of  rocks. 
And  yet  his  might's  confined  to  Tellus'  bounds. 
Zeus  only  can  do  this  ! 

{He  extends  his  hand  —  the  sun  vanishes,  and  it 
becomes  suddenly  night.) 

Semele.    (Falling  down  before  him.)    Almighty  one  ! 
Couldst  thou  but  love !  [J^<^1/  reappears. 

Zeus.  Ha  !     Cadmus'  daughter  asks 

Kronion  if  Kronion  e'er  can  love ! 
One  word  and  he  throws  off  divinity  — 
Is  flesh  and  blood,  and  dies,  and  is  beloved ! 

Semele.     Would  Zeus  do  that  ? 

Zeus.  Speak,  Semele !     What  more  ? 

Apollo's  self  confesses  that  'tis  bliss 
To  be  a  man  'mongst  men  —  a  sign  from  thee. 
And  I'm  a  man  ! 

Semele.     (Falling  on  his  neck).     Oh,  Jupiter,  the 
Epidaurus  women 
Thy  Semele  a  foolish  maiden  call. 
Because,  though  by  the  Thunderer  beloved, 
She  can  obtain  nought  from  him  — 


3i8  POEMS  OF  SCHILLER 

Zeus.     {Eagerly.)  They  shall  blush, 

Those  Epidaurus  women  !     Ask  !  —  but  ask  ! 
And  by  the  dreaded  Styx  —  whose  boundless  might 
Binds  e'en  the  gods  like  slaves  —  if  Zeus  deny  thee, 
Then  shall  the  gods,  e'en  in  that  selfsame  moment, 
Hurl  me  despairing  to  annihilation  ! 

Semele.     {Sjiringing  up  jogfidly.)      By  this  I  know 
that  thou'rt  my  Jupiter ! 
Thou  swearest  —  and  the  Styx  has  heard  thine  oath ! 
Let  me  embrace  thee,  then,  in  the  same  guise 
In  which  — 

Zeus.     {Shrieking  with  alarm)     Unhappy  one  !  Oh, 
stay  !  oh,  stay  ! 

Semele.     Saturnia  — 

Zeus.     {Attempting  to   stop  her  mouth.)     Be  thou 
dumb ! 

Semele.     Embraces  thee. 

Zeus.     {Pale,  and  turning  away.)     Too  late  !     The 
sound  escaped  !  —  The  Styx  !  —  'Tis  death 
Thou,  Semele,  hast  gained  ! 

Semele.  Ha  !     Loves  Zeus  thus  ? 

Zeus.     All  heaven  I  would  have  given,  had  I  only 
Loved  thee  but  less  !     {Gazing  at  her  with  eold horror.) 
Thou'rt  lost  — 

Semele.     Oh,  Jupiter ! 

Zeus.     {Speaking  furiously  to  himself.)  Ah !  now  I 
mark  thine  exultation,  Juno  ! 
Accursed  jealousy  !     This  rose  must  die  ! 
Too  fair  —  alas  !  too  sweet  for  Acheron  ! 

Semele.     Methinks  thou'rt  niggard  of  thy  majesty  ! 

Zeus.     Accursed  be  my  majesty,  that  now 
Has  blinded  thee  !     Accursed  be  my  greatness, 
That  must  destroy  thee !     Cursed  be  I  myself 
For  having  built  my  bliss  on  crumbling  dust ! 

Semele.     These  are  but  empty  terrors,  Zeus !     In 
truth 
I  do  not  dread  thy  threats ! 


POEMS  OF  SCHILLER  319 

Zeus.  Deluded  child ! 

Go  !  take  a  last  farewell  for  evermore 
Of  all  thy  friends  beloved  —  nought,  nought  has  power 
To  save  thee,  Semele !  I  am  thy  Zeus ! 
Yet  that  no  more  —  Go  — 

Semele.  Jealous  one  !  the  Styx  !  — 

Think  not  that  thou'lt  be  able  to  escape  me.  \^Exit. 

Zeus.     No!     Juno  shall  not  triumph.  —  She  shall 

•     tremble  — 
Ay,  and  by  virtue  of  the  deadly  might 
That  makes  the  earth  and  makes  the  heavens  my  foot- 
stool, 
Upon  the  sharpest  rock  in  Thracia's  land 
With  adamantine  chains  I'll  bind  her  fast. 
But,  oh,  this  oath  — 

[Mercury  appears  in  the  distance. 
What  means  thy  hasty  flight  ? 

Mekcury.     I  bring  the  fiery,  winged,  and  weeping 
thanks 
Of  those  whom  thou  hast  blessed  — 

Zeus.  Again  destroy  them  ! 

Mercury.     {In  amazement.)     Zeus ! 

Zeus.  None  shall  now  be  blessed  ! 

She  dies  — 

[The  curtain  falls. 


THE     END. 


•ic 


>-^;k^ 


L^. 


mm 


*^^'W^^ 


*M 


'■#v 


^7k 


♦v  *f' 


v^^a'f' 


ii 


!<*■' 


>««a^Li:T-*  •■_    ^.1 


